When Two Harts Become One
by Jennifer Hart
Summary: Jonathan is forced to match wits with a lunatic — and solve the murder he hoped he'd never have to investigate.
1. Hartbreak

**Title: When Two Harts Become One**

**Rating: PG-13 **

**Classification: Suspense/Tragedy/Angst**

**Disclaimers: The closest I am to owning anything Hart to Hart are the DVDs and two scripts from Ebay.  
**

**Spoiler Warnings: I know the series is an old one, but just in case there's anyone else like me out there who's new to it and hasn't yet seen all of the episodes, I do reference the following: **

**Season 1: **Pilot Movie, Death Set, Passport To Murder, You Made Me Kill You, Raid,

**Season 2: **This Lady Is Murder, Murder In Paradise, Operation Murder, Getting Aweigh With Murder, The Murder Of Jonathan Hart, What Murder?

**Season 3: **Hart of Darkness

**Season 4: **Hunted Harts

**Season 5: **Hostage Harts, Two Harts Are Better Than One, Pandora Has Wings

**Summary: Jonathan is forced to match wits with a lunatic — and solve the murder he hoped he'd never have to investigate.**

**A/N: This is a storyline that it would have been logical for Stephen Edwards to be included in, however at the time I was writing this I hadn't actually seen those episodes. So for this story's purposes, he died the August following the Season 5 finale (1984) and this story itself is set in May, 1985.**

**H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H H2H**

Chapter 1: Hartbreak

"Mr. H?" There was no response and Max took a deep breath, then stepped out of the kitchen doorway and onto the back patio. Jonathan had been sitting at the patio table for the past hour since he'd gotten home, his arms folded on the table in front of him, simply staring into the backyard. Reluctantly, Max approached him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Mr. H?"

"Quite the contrast, isn't it?" The words were dull and so quiet Max wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

"Contrast?"

Jonathan nodded towards the rich golden flames of the sky that lit up a strip between the shadowy forms of the trees behind the house and the approaching cloud cover above. The effect was stunning: a thick, dark curtain cut in two by a momentary glow of beauty.

"That." Jonathan didn't look up, but kept his eyes trained towards the trees at the far end of the yard. "We were stuck at the airport for an hour because that dust storm was so thick you couldn't even see anything. Now everything looks so clear you can't even believe it happened."

Truthfully, Max saw more of a contrast in his old friend's voice. While talking, Jonathan had sounded almost distant, as though both his thoughts and he himself were far removed from the conversation. Throughout the years Max had stood by as a witness to many of Jonathan's conversations, taken part in even more, and had also frequently just served as a sounding board. During all of it there had been one near constant that had almost never changed: the direct, purposefulness of Jonathan's tone of voice. Even when thinking out loud he'd almost never sounded less than deliberate and focused on what he was saying. Never distant.

Max didn't voice these thoughts though; instead responding, "I've seen it like this on other nights, too. Never really get used to it, though."

For the first time Jonathan looked directly at him. "You're not talking about the weather," he said softly.

The older man shrugged. "You weren't either."

For a few moments, neither man spoke. Finally, Jonathan drew in a shaky breath. "The police?"

Max nodded. "On their way up."

Jonathan exhaled slowly and got to his feet. "Okay," he said simply.

The officers were already at the door by the time the two men re-entered the house. Max ushered them into the living room: Detective Morgan, an auburn-haired man in his early thirties, and his younger partner Detective Bresling, a petite blonde woman. After the initial formalities, Jonathan cut to the chase. "What do you know so far?"

The two officers exchanged glances. "Not a lot," Detective Bresling said carefully. "The preliminary indication is that a gas main malfunctioned."

Jonathan's response was immediate. "Sabotage?"

"Too soon to tell," the other officer replied.

"What can I do to help?"

Detective Bresling's voice was sympathetic. "Why don't you start with walking us through how this day started?"

A series of images cascaded through Jonathan's mind, and he slowly sat back. "From the beginning?" The officer nodded and Jonathan closed his eyes briefly.

"Jennifer hadn't been sleeping very well the past few days," he said quietly. "I don't know what was going on, but she hadn't fallen asleep before 4:00 in the morning for the last week. She finally managed to drop off at two last night and I wanted to let her sleep in as late as she could."

H2H H2H H2H

"Darling." Jonathan gently smoothed back his wife's hair. "Darling, it's time to get up."

Jennifer opened her eyes to see her husband sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. She smiled sleepily at him. "What time is it?"

"Almost 8:30."

She blinked. "Your flight leaves in an hour, doesn't it?"

He nodded. "I wanted to let you sleep."

Jennifer groaned. "I don't even remember when I was finally able to turn the light off last night."

"You didn't," Jonathan said dryly.

"What?"

"I woke up at three. The lamp was on, your book had fallen on the floor, and you were out cold." They both chuckled, then Jennifer's expression turned serious.

"You're still planning on flying home tonight?"

Jonathan nodded. "The meetings won't go past 5:30 and that's Arizona time. I'll barely be late for supper."

Jennifer smiled ruefully. "Good. You know, we've really got to do something about this—you heading off to one location for business at the same time I'm on assignment for an article. What is this, the third week?"

Jonathan winced. "Fourth." His wife groaned. "This is the one about that hidden room they found in the basement of that college library, right?"

"Yeah, Tormandyne Academy. You know, I still find that the weirdest thing, California's oldest ladies finishing school—now college—and nobody knew about that room before now. Not to mention the headmistress specifically requesting me personally for the only article they're officially releasing."

"Hey, you're a great journalist and people are taking notice," Jonathan said with a smile. "Enjoy it."

"I guess." Jennifer still sounded hesitant.

Jonathan caught sight of the bedside clock and grimaced. "I really hate to say this, but I've got to run." He leaned in and kissed her, a kiss he would later remember as being all too short. "I'll see you later," he whispered.

She smiled at him lovingly. "Count on it."

He was almost at the door when the sound of her voice stopped him. "Jonathan?" He turned back. "I mean it—I want to sit down and coordinate my article assignments with your business schedule. It's driving me nuts."

They exchanged a long look and Jonathan nodded firmly. "It's a date. He started to turn around, then paused. Jennifer was sitting up in bed, wearing his white pyjama top, and the morning sunlight was shining against her hair, giving it glowing amber highlights. Part of the sunbeam was streaked across her cheeks, highlighting her freckles and lighting up her eyes and smile. Watching her in that moment, Jonathan wondered if he'd ever seen her look more beautiful. "I love you."

Jennifer's smile widened and her eyes shone even more. "I love you, too."

H2H H2H H2H

He was walking through the Tucson airport when he saw it. He and one of the other arrivals for the meeting, walking past a TV in one of the lounges. The flaming building on the screen caught their attention. The headline said something about an explosion at a California Ladies' college. Then Jonathan caught the name.

Jonathan never remembered what explanation he gave his companion, or whether he'd even said anything at all. All he remembered was bolting back towards the gate he'd just come from as fast as his shaking legs would carry him, and repeating the most frantic prayer of his life.

H2H H2H H2H

Max was waiting on the Tarmac with the car when the Hart jet touched down. The minute the plane stopped Jonathan was down the stairs and running towards the car.

"Max!" His friend looked older than Jonathan ever remembered seeing him. "Max!"

"Mr. H." The words were barely audible and he gripped Jonathan's shoulders tightly.

"Is Jennifer with you?" The older man shook his head, unable to speak. "Have you been to the scene?" Max didn't answer. "Has Jennifer tried to call? Have you heard anything? Is...Is she..." Jonathan's voice shook. "Is Jennifer all right?"

Max looked at him for several seconds, then simply answered, "Jonathan."

It was all he needed to say.

H2H H2H H2H

Max silently pulled the car into the parking lot of the Hattman Funeral Home. Knowing the sight of his wife lying in the cold city morgue would be too much for Jonathan to deal with, Max had made arrangements for Jennifer's body to be sent directly to the mortuary. The woman in charge, a woman in her twenties with dull blonde hair, gently greeted them and ushered them towards one of the back rooms.

"I have to warn you, I haven't had much chance to clean her up yet, so her appearance could be hard to see," she warned them. "They found her before she could be badly burned, but there is a severe head injury."

Jonathan's face paled slightly, but he managed to reply. "It's all right, Mrs. Rosser, I just...I have to see her."

The woman nodded. "I understand."

"That was the cause, then?" Jonathan's voice sounded faint even to his own ears. "The head injury?"

Mrs. Rosser nodded again. "Probably from flying debris. If it's any comfort, she probably died instantly, with very little pain."

"It's not a comfort," Jonathan answered.

The woman smiled apologetically. "Of course. Forgive me." She opened the door in front of them. "This way."

Although there was a bank of mortuary drawers on the far wall, Mrs. Rosser led them to a table near the entrance of the room. Jonathan felt his stomach clench at the sight, but he forced himself to walk forward.

"There's a stool at the head of the table if either of you need it," Mrs. Rosser told them as she reached for the sheet. "Are you ready?"

Jonathan didn't think he'd ever be ready, but he nodded mutely. Mrs. Rosser carefully pulled back the sheet.

"Jennifer!" The broken gasp slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he was dimly aware of Max's hand tightening on his arm. He gratefully collapsed onto the offered stool, as silent sobs shook his body.

Jennifer's face still showed smudges of the smoke from the explosion and there was no missing the ugly gash on her left temple. However her expression was surprisingly peaceful, reminding Jonathan of when he'd woken her up that morning. Too much like when he'd woken her up that morning. He looked up at Mrs. Rosser, struggling to find his voice.

"Please...Please, can I have some time...alone?"

Mrs. Rosser nodded understandingly. "Of course. Mr. Brenner?"

Max looked at Jonathan for conformation and, when he nodded, followed the funeral home director out of the room.

When they were gone, Jonathan gently took his wife's hand and stared down at her face, trying to reconcile his brain to what he was seeing. Jennifer was still wearing the clothes she'd been found in and part of her shirt was visible above the line of the sheet. Jonathan recognized it; a white, shortsleeved blouse with tan trim decorating the collar, sleeve hems, pocket, and neckline. It brought back how he'd last seen her that morning—smiling and wearing his white pyjama top with the sun shining onto her hair. Instinctively he knew he'd never be able to wear those pyjamas again.

The sunlight in her hair that morning had been replaced with blood, matting the strands against her forehead. Jonathan reached up with his other hand and gently smoothed it back. "Oh, Darling," he whispered. "I am so sorry."

He squeezed her hand, even though he knew she couldn't feel it. "You know, these last nine years—they've been the best in my life." A sob caught in his throat again and he sighed. "I can't believe I'm actually doing this. I keep thinking I'm going to wake up any second with my heart pounding and look over to see you sleeping next to me and realize this was all just a really, really sick nightmare."

He squeezed her hand again. "Or that I'm about to wake _you_ up, and insist on taking you to Arizona with me and under no circumstances let you go near that college." His voice broke, and he leaned his head against Jennifer's shoulder, unable to hold the tears back any longer.

After several long moments, Jonathan brought his head up again. "Darling, I promise you, I am going to find whoever did this to you...whoever..." He drew a shuddering breath. "Whoever took you away from me." He leaned over and kissed Jennifer's forehead. "You have my word."


	2. Hartache

**A/N: Sorry about the delay, I was out with a flu bug. Hope you enjoy:)**

Chapter 2: Hartache

Jonathan looked up at the officers, clearly spent. "That's basically it."

Detective Morgan leaned forward. "Mr. Hart, can you think of anyone who would want to harm your wife?"

Jonathan felt his whole body go completely hot and numb. He couldn't move, couldn't speak; all he could do was hear Jennifer.

"_Africa? Oh, no. No..."_

"_We can think of something."_

"_We can?"_

"_I want you to promise me we're not going to do this again._"

"Mr. Hart? Mr. Hart?"

Jonathan slowly pulled himself away from the memories and looked up at the officers, his eyes bleak. In a barely audible voice, he answered, "Because of me."

Both detectives looked stunned by his comment, and Detective Bresling frowned. "Mr. Hart, do you want to elaborate on that?" she said sternly.

Jonathan slumped back in his seat. "For a while now, Jennifer and I have been getting involved in...unofficially...investigating crimes."

Detective Bresling stared at him. "What sort of crimes?"

Jonathan drew in a deep breath. "Robbery sometimes. A couple of kidnappings. But most of the time...murders."

"You said 'for a while now'," Detective Morgan cut in. "Just exactly how long was that?"

Jonathan met their eyes. "Since we met, a little over nine years ago. In fact, that's actually part of how we met. We were solving a murder." He took a deep breath. "For what it's worth, I'm old friends with several of the officers in Homicide, so a lot of our 'work' was done with police approval. Often it was people we knew who were involved on the victim's side, and we were trying to help, or we'd hear a chance remark, but not have enough information to take to the police."

He shrugged impatiently. "But my point is, we probably made more than a few enemies, and they often knew about our being involved. I'm sure there's at least some who would like to get some payback."

The officers' expressions looked liked they'd softened somewhat, although Detective Bresling still had a question. "Then why did you think this would be because of you?"

Jonathan looked directly at her. "Because most of the investigations were my idea," he said quietly. "There were several instances where she wasn't sure about getting involved, but I convinced her."

Just then the phone rang. Max answered it in the other room, but a second later came out. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. H.,, but it's the funeral home. They want to talk to you."

"It's okay, Max, I'll take it." Jonathan stood up and looked at the Officers. "Will you please excuse me for a moment?"

Both detectives stood as well. "Actually, that's really all we need for right now," Detective Morgan replied. "But if you could draw up a list of the cases you and your wife were involved in, that would be helpful."

Jonathan nodded. "I'll try and get that to you in the next couple of days." He looked over at Max. "Max, will you show the detectives out?"

"Sure thing, Mr. H."

Jonathan shook hands with the officers, then walked over to the phone. "This is Jonathan Hart."

"Mr. Hart, this is Mrs. Rosser from the Hattman funeral home. I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but there's a rather difficult issue I need to talk to you about."

Jonathan took a deep breath and gripped the edge of the table he was standing beside. "Go ahead."

"Mr. Hart, your wife's head injury...I'm afraid there's no way for me to completely conceal it," Mrs. Rosser explained. "I will certainly do what I can for the viewing, but..."

Jonathan closed his eyes, willing himself to escape from this nightmare. This couldn't be happening. That morning he and Jennifer were discussing travel plans. Now he was having a conversation about her funeral.

"Mrs. Rosser, it's all right." He managed to find his voice. "Jennifer talked once about wanting a closed casket funeral. I don't think she'd want the people she loved to have to remember her like that. _I don't want to have to remember her like that. In fact, I don't want to have to be 'remembering' her at all!_ "We'll just go ahead and leave the viewing."

"Of course, Mr. Hart. I understand. Will you still want to send a different outfit for her to be buried in?"

He had to get off the phone, now, or he was going to completely lose control. "Uh, yeah. I'll send something over tomorrow. I'm sorry, I really need to go."

"I understand, Mr. Hart. Take care."

He all but slammed the phone down and stood there for a moment trembling, his forehead soaked in sweat. A concerned whimper at his ankle drew his attention.

"Freeway." Reaching down he scooped the dog up and held him close. Freeway sniffed his face, his eyes worried.

"She's not coming back, Freeway," Jonathan said softly. He walked back over to the couch and sat down, resting his cheek against Freeway's back. Tears trickled into the dog's fur. "Jennifer's not coming back."

H2H H2H H2H

Despite the late hour, Max insisted on taking Jonathan out to eat that night. He rationalized that it wasn't like he could bring a casserole over, and even if he could, Jonathan hated them anyway. Jonathan accepted, pointing out that he wouldn't really feel right asking Max to cook that night under the circumstances. The truth was neither of them were ready to face the empty place at the dinner table.

Where to go had posed a problem at first, since there was the unspoken agreement they didn't want a place that was tied to any memories. Max finally solved the dilemma by suggesting his old friend's pub-type restaurant a few blocks away.

The strategy worked until it was time to read the menu. Jonathan was reading through the sandwich list when his eyes caught the words "roast beef". The print blurred in front of him as he remembered a night several years earlier, when Jennifer had tried her hand at baking roast. It was a meal they'd never forgotten, primarily because of the clouds of smoke that had come billowing out of the oven. Jennifer had passed him the tray with the charred, black blob that had at one time been edible and told him to carve. Jonathan took a deep breath, trying to hold the tears back.

"Mr. H.?" Max looked over at him in concern. "You okay?"

"Roast beef sandwich," Jonathan said quietly. At Max's confused look, he gestured to the menu. "Page 3, roast beef sandwich."

Max scanned the items, then nodded. "Got it. So?"

Tears glistened in Jonathan's eyes and he whispered, "Do you think if I asked them, they would burn it black?"

Max looked at him in sympathy and gently squeezed his arm. Suddenly his eyes twinkled. "Remember the look she'd get when you teased her about her cooking?"

In spite of himself, Jonathan chuckled. Encouraged, Max went on, "I think the worst was when you asked her what would be more dangerous—eating what she'd cooked or facing her reaction if you didn't."

"No, I think the worst was when she paid me back by telling me the caterers had cancelled for a business party we were having, and she'd had to do all the seafood herself." Jonathan just shook his head, unable to keep from smiling. "Including what she called 'Eel margaritas,' the name of which she didn't share until after I'd taken several sips. I'll never forget the sight of her watching me and laughing so hard she couldn't even stand up straight."

Jonathan's expression sobered. "Max, I'm not kidding. I'd give anything to eat that burned roast if it meant Jennifer was still alive to burn it."

H2H H2H H2H

It was almost one in the morning when Jonathan finally ventured upstairs to the bedroom. He had made it as far as the door a couple hours before, since it was the only way to convince Max to turn in for the night, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to open it. He wasn't sure he was ready now, either, but he forced himself to turn the handle anyway.

Almost immediately his eyes went to the door of the walk-in closet on Jennifer's side of the room, half expecting and half hoping to see her step through any second. He stood staring at it for several long moments, then on a sudden impulse moved towards the door on his side, cautiously stepping into the closet section.

The scent of Jennifer's perfume still hung faintly in the air, and he saw a casual red-and-white striped top and pair of white pants were on a hanger hanging on one of the doorknobs on Jennifer's side, where she'd apparently set them out to change into when she came home. Jonathan slowly walked over and gently fingered the sleeve of the top before moving towards the vanity and bathroom area. Resting on the vanity was a to-do list in Jennifer's writing, evidentially written in haste, for a couple of the items were barely legible. At the bottom was a notation, "Ask Jonathan about plan for..." with the last word unrecognizable. He smiled at that and carefully folded it up to carry with him.

His last stop was the door to the utility room where he paused, remembering that awful moment several years earlier, when he'd found Jennifer unconscious inside. Some desperate urge made him open the door now, even though he knew he wouldn't see her there this time.

Finally he drifted back out through the door on Jennifer's side and sat down on the edge of the bed, similar to the way he had that morning. Jennifer had just started reading a new author, Mary Higgins Clark, on a recommendation of their friend Dorothy Roberts, and two of her books were out on the nightstand. The top book, _The Cradle Will Fall_, was the one she'd been reading when she fell asleep the night before. Jonathan picked it up, lightly tracing the embossed letters with his finger before his eyes fell upon the photo next to the lamp. Carefully he reached past the other book and picked it up.

It was a closeup portrait of Jennifer dressed in a black evening gown. The picture had been taken at a slight angle, so that she appeared to be looking off to the side with a little smile. Her eyes looked thoughtful, almost as though she had some sort of secret plan in mind. It was a photo Jonathan had always loved of her, because it reminded him of whenever they were involved in an investigation. Looking at the picture now, Jonathan thought he could almost see an extra poignancy in the secret of her smile. He wasn't sure if it was something he was noticing because he was looking at the photo so soon after Jennifer's death, or if it had always been there and just held new meaning.

Jonathan stared down at the photo for several seconds, gently stroking Jennifer's cheek in the picture with the knuckle of his index finger. After a couple moments he realized the difference. It was as though now, the picture showed Jennifer looking ahead to Heaven. It almost made him love the picture even more, except he didn't want Jennifer looking ahead Heaven yet. He wanted her back there, with him.

And the worst of it was that there was so much to support that she _should_ still be there. Her perfume, the clothing she'd set out for that night, the list with the note to ask him about something, the book on the nightstand that she hadn't finished reading. Even the scent of Jennifer herself still on her pillow. Jonathan gently touched the pillowcase, then turned back to the picture.

"I'm not ready for this, Darling," he whispered. "For you to be gone. I don't know if I'm ever going to be ready."

Reaching out he grabbed the pillow with one hand and Jennifer's picture in the other, then sank down into a sitting position on the floor next to the bed, holding both items close and leaning his head against the mattress. "This shouldn't have happened," he said softly. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he looked up through the window at the night sky. "This just wasn't supposed to happen."

H2H H2H H2H

It was cool and foggy when the Hattman Funeral Home Limousine pulled up in front of the Church the day of Jennifer Hart's funeral. Jonathan and Max exited the vehicle silently and moved to join the other four pallbearers. Despite the fact that it went against tradition for the widowed spouse to serve as a pallbearer, Jonathan had been adamant on performing this last service to Jennifer.

In addition to the two of them, he'd chosen Jorje, his old friend from South America who had adored Jennifer; Jennifer's old friend and journalist colleague, Pierre Duval; and Lieutenant Gray, an officer who frequently assisted the Harts in their investigations. Stanley Friesen had been transferred a couple of months earlier and was unable to fly in, so in his place was Phillip Hampton, another Hart employee who, along with his wife, were good friends of the Harts. There were a few other friends in the police department whose names were listed in the program as honorary pallbearers as well.

The hearse pulled up alongside the curb and the funeral home attendants eased the casket onto the cart. Swallowing hard, Jonathan stepped forward and took hold of the first handle with his right hand. Max immediately moved into position directly opposite him on the other side. Once all six men were in position, they began the sad, slow walk up to the door.

The Church itself was not large, but as far as Jonathan was concerned the aisle was another story. Twice he found himself nearly breaking down and he steadfastly kept his face looking ahead, avoiding all eye contact. In the back of his mind was the knowledge that he had the rest of his life to cry for Jennifer, but this was one of only two more walks he would make with Jennifer by his side. Somehow he made it to the front of the Church.

He helped Max and the others gently place the casket on the table, then carefully put the photograph of Jennifer that they'd chosen into place. The last thing Jonathan did was lean over and gently place a kiss on the wood of the casket above near where her head would be resting. Then he followed Max to his seat in the front row.

The service itself was not a long one, with a couple of readings and a few hymns interspersed with tributes given by some of those who'd known and loved Jennifer. In the back of Jonathan's mind was the knowledge that he should be remembering every single moment, but the truth was he could barely take in anything. A peculiar sensation had enveloped his body, almost as though he was Scrooge watching the scenes of his life with the Christmas Spirits, and he felt powerless to actually interact or really do anything but try and survive.

He did catch a couple of snatches from when Jennifer's Aunt Josie shared moments from Jennifer's childhood, including her early love of writing and the way she'd started early writing stories about just about anything that was happening at home or at school. A couple of others spoke, including Max, and then he heard the Minister say, "And lastly we will hear from Jennifer's husband, Jonathan Hart."

For a second, Jonathan couldn't move. Finally he shakily got to his feet and somehow made it up to the lectern, which he promptly gripped as though he were a drowning man and it were a life preserver. Taking a deep breath, he began.

"Several years ago I stood in a Church a lot like this one and promised to love and honor Jennifer 'until death do us part.' I meant every word, but I don't think I really thought about what 'death do us part,' would really mean. I know I didn't think it would mean this soon."

Tears welled up in his eyes and he closed them briefly to compose himself. "When I was in the Navy, we had this crazy toast, 'To sweethearts and wives. May they never meet.' That toast came up once when we were on vacation to Hawaii and what I told Jennifer then is what I want to say again to all of you, now. Jennifer was not only my wife, but she was my sweetheart, and the best mate a guy could have. And it was, and still is, the truth.

"With a few exceptions, we've basically shared every moment of these last few years of our lives together. Some of you may not know this, but a few years ago I was temporarily blinded in an accident. It sounds like a cliché, but it's true. The first thing or person I saw when my vision had returned and they took the bandages off was Jennifer.

"She was with me during some of the best moments of our lives — when we met in London, when we got married, when we went and helped my friend Jorje and his people in South America. And she was at my side during some of the worst, like the time I was taken hostage in Paris. I will never forget at one point, my captors were getting ready to move me, and suddenly there was this ambush and gunfire. I thought at first it was the police — and it was, sort of. It was one French detective, a journalist friend of ours named Pierre Duval, and...Jennifer." Jonathan's voice cracked up with emotion. "To this day, what I remember the most is lying there where I'd been thrown on the ground, and looking up to see Jennifer leaning over me, asking if I was all right, and then pulling me into the warmest hug I could imagine."

Jonathan's voice shook again and he struggled to regain control. "I learned later that the French police had asked her to stay out of it, but..." His voice trailed off as he caught sight of a movement at the back of the Church. "No..." he whispered. "It can't..." He caught himself and quickly shook his head. "Sorry. I was going to say, but she didn't listen. And that right there was..." He broke off once more as he again caught sight of the figure at the back of the Church, moving a little ways forward, into the light...

"Jennifer," he breathed.

The figure moved back into the shadows and towards the nearest exit. Jonathan scrambled down from the pulpit and bolted down the aisle. "Jennifer!"


	3. Horror

**A/N: I wasn't exactly sure if Greshem was just a prep school or whether it would have been a boarding school as well. Since it seemed to be located a ways away from her hometown and seemed to be a separate little town for the two schools, I decided to take artistic license.**

**And sorry about the delay. Some family stuff was going on and I couldn't even get online. Hoping this settle down now.**

**Thanks to Planet P and CKHand for helping me find the right category. I've corrected that now.  
**

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Chapter 3: Horror

"Jennifer!" Jonathan rushed out the Church door and looked frantically up and down the street. "Jennifer!"

He couldn't see her anywhere, but there was a couple getting into their car a little ways up the street. Jonathan ran towards them. "Excuse me?" They paused and turned. "I'm looking for my wife." He pulled out his wallet and flipped to a recent picture of them. "There's a picture. She was wearing an emerald green dress and she was probably coming from the direction of the Church down the street. Did you see her?"

"No, I'm sorry."

Jonathan quickly left them and ran towards a man walking in the opposite direction. "Sir, please. This is a picture of my wife. She was walking down the street in a green dress a couple of minutes ago. Did you see where she went?" The man gave him a strange look and quickly shook his head before hurrying down the street.

Jonathan tried a few more people, but all of them had the same response and most, similar reactions. Frustrated he turned in a slow circle, scanning every inch of the street while running an agitated hand through his hair. He couldn't see Jennifer anywhere.

"Mr. H!" Jonathan slowly turned to see Max hurrying towards him, followed by Jorje. Both men looked concerned. Jonathan grabbed Max's arm.

"It's Jennifer, Max. She was just here, but then she disappeared before I could catch up to her." Jonathan frantically scanned the crowd again. "Or maybe someone took her. I don't know. But she was just here."

Both Jorje and Max simply looked at him, not saying anything. Jonathan stared at them in disbelief. "Didn't you hear me? We can't just stand here. We've got to find her!"

"Jonathan." Jorje put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Jennifer is back in the Church, inside the casket."

"No." Jonathan shook his head. "No, you don't understand. I saw her in the Church when I was up there giving the eulogy. She was in the back. I tried to follow her, but before I could catch up to her she'd disappeared!"

"Mr. H., why don't we go back inside?" Max said gently. Jonathan quickly took a step back.

"You don't believe me." Jorje quickly put a hand on his arm.

"Jonathan, you just said it yourself. She _was_ here, but now she's disappeared. There is nothing else we can do out here. Come on, my friend, let's go inside and finish the service, and then later we'll talk about our next move."

Jonathan didn't look convinced, but slowly allowed his friends to lead him back towards the Church.

H2H H2H H2H

"I'm telling you, Max, I saw her." Jonathan's voice was firm. "I saw Jennifer."

It was evening and the funeral and the luncheon were both over. Jonathan had held up surprisingly well at the graveside service, although when Max considered that Jonathan now thought there was a chance his wife might still be alive, perhaps it wasn't all that surprising. Now the two of them, together with Jorje, were back at the Hart residence in the living room, trying to puzzle out what exactly it was that Jonathan thought he had seen.

"I know my wife when I see her," Jonathan continued, pacing as he was talking. "Believe me, it was her."

Jorje studied his friend thoughtfully. "Jonathan," he said carefully. "Did you see Jennifer's body at the funeral home?"

Jonathan blinked and then slowly nodded. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, I did."

"Pardon me if this question sounds insensitive, my friend," Jorje said softly. "But you are absolutely certain it was Jennifer?"

Jonathan stopped pacing and looked away for a minute. "I spent probably twenty minutes in there with her," he said softly. "Yeah. It was Jennifer."

Jorje's voice was gentle as he prodded, "And you're sure she was dead?"

Jonathan closed his eyes, not wanting to remember those awful moments. "Yeah, she was." He opened his eyes and looked at Jorje. "You think I'm seeing things."

Max and Jorje exchanged glances. "Mr. H., it wouldn't be like you were crazy or anything," Max began, looking at Jorje for help. "I mean, it happens to lots of people..."

"It is what you would call a 'grief-induced hallucination," Jorje explained. "Where the death is so upsetting there'll be moments where you think you actually see the person still alive. And it _is_ somewhat common."

Jonathan shook his head, not convinced. "I can see that maybe if I were questioning whether Jennifer died before the funeral, but like you said, I saw her body. It was the hardest moment in my life, and I'm not going to lie, there are moments where I've been hoping this was just some really bad nightmare. But deep down I've known it was real." His throat tightened and he whispered, "Too real."

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to regain control. "But it was seeing her today that made me think she was still alive — not wondering if she was still alive that made me think I saw her."

"It could be you did see someone, Jonathan," Jorje replied. "Just not Jennifer. That's also part of the grieving process. You notice someone who looks like the person you've lost — even if it's not a strong resemblance — and in your grief, your mind translates the face as the person you've lost."

"Wait a minute. Resemblance." Max turned to Jonathan, his eyes lighting up. "A few years ago, Mrs. H. was kidnapped because someone thought she looked like a criminal's wife — the one with that French name. Remember? They helped you get her back. Maybe they decided to go to the funeral, and you saw her."

Jonathan's face was sceptical. "Then why didn't anyone else notice them? If you're going to a funeral where you look that much like the person who died, someone would have noticed and said something, even if it was one of the mourners trying to warn me."

"They didn't have the chance. The family always arrives last. By the time they saw you in the condolence line, you'd already seen her." Max headed towards the downstairs study. "I'm going to try and find their number to call them, just in case."

Jorje looked over at Jonathan. "What do you think, my friend?"

"I don't know," Jonathan said hesitantly. Slowly he walked over and sat next to his friend on the couch. "Maybe...maybe you're right. It's just that..." He looked up at Jorje, his eyes pleading for understanding. "She just seemed so real."

"But maybe she was." Jorje's voice was encouraging. "Even if it was not the woman Max was thinking of, you said she was in the back in the shadows. She could have simply been a red-haired woman who looked like Jennifer at that distance, but not when you saw her closer in good light. And then because she really did not look that much like Jennifer when you had a good look at her, that's why she seemed to vanish."

"No, there definitely wasn't another redheaded woman," Jonathan said with certainty. "That I would have remembered." He sighed. "And why didn't whoever it was just stop and let me see them? I mean, even if the name was wrong they'd have to know from the way I was running that it was them I was talking to."

"Perhaps embarrassment that they had distressed you so much after what you were going through," Jorje suggested. "They panicked."

Jonathan sighed. "I don't know." He stared ahead in silence for several seconds. "They would have had to be a pretty good look-alike," he said slowly, his voice growing more certain as he spoke. "The Church itself isn't that large and I know the shadows weren't really dim, because I got a good look at her outfit."

He looked over at Jorje. "That was part of what convinced me it was Jennifer — I thought it was her dress."

"Which one?" Jorje asked carefully.

"An emerald green one I bought her while we were in London. It was always one of her favourites."

Max slowly slipped back into the room, carrying a photograph from the bookshelf. "This dress, Mr. H.?"

Jonathan took the photo and looked at it for a second, then stared back at Max. "Yeah," he said slowly. He quickly looked at Jorje, then back at Max and made a move to get up. "I should see if it's still in her closet."

"It's not, Mr. H." Max's voice stopped him. "That's the one you asked me to take to the funeral home, for her to be buried in."

H2H H2H H2H

By evening the fog had lifted and the air was actually warmer than it had been during the afternoon.

Jorje had left a short time earlier and Jonathan had opted to take a walk in the backyard, accompanied by Freeway. The little dog had always been the type to prefer being in the same room — if not on the same piece of furniture — as his owners when they were home, but since Jennifer's death he had virtually attached himself to Jonathan, even going so far as to accompany him whenever he went to the bathroom. Jonathan hadn't minded, finding Freeway's extra presence almost as comforting as Freeway seemed to find Jonathan's. Jonathan even found they shared a common link in their grieving, since Freeway refused to sleep in his bed in the kitchen and Jonathan still couldn't make himself sleep in the bedroom he and Jennifer had shared. Actually he wasn't getting much sleep in the spare room or on the couch, either, the two sites where he and the dog inevitably ended up, although both locations appeared to be working for Freeway.

Jonathan let Freeway choose the route that evening and they wound up on the trail leading down to the pool. Freeway appeared to have chosen the site on purpose, because he ran almost immediately to the edge of the pool and lay down, staring out at the water.

Jonathan sat down on one of the beach chairs, half watching him, his mind flashing back to another moment at the pool a few nights earlier.

H2H H2H H2H

Jonathan lay silently, trying to figure out what had woken him. After a couple of seconds he noticed it, a quiet tapping coming from across the room. Instinctively he reached behind him to check on Jennifer, noticing with some alarm that her side of the bed was empty.

Now fully alert he half sat up and spotted his wife sitting in the chair across the room. Immediately he realized where the tapping was coming from — Jennifer was reading and absently tapping her finger on the book cover in the process. He smiled with relief.

Noticing his movement Jennifer looked over at him. "I'm sorry, Darling, did I wake you?"

"It's okay." He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 2:45 AM. Jonathan slid out of bed and walked over to sit on the footstool beside her. "Can't sleep again?"

Jennifer grimaced. "Don't get me started. This is the fourth time I've gotten up with a book tonight."

"The book that good?" Jonathan glanced at the cover. Mary Higgins Clark's _Where Are The Children_? A little grin tugged at his lips. I don't think the subject matter helps."

Jennifer made a face at him. "I just think I'm getting tired and as soon as the light's off my eyes fly open like they're on springs."

Jonathan reached up to stroke her hair and caught sight of her pool cover-up draped over the back of the chair behind her. An idea struck him. "Grab your swimsuit."

Jennifer stared at him. "My swimsuit?"

"Trust me. Being in water has a soothing effect." At her sceptical expression, he explained, "When I was at Mission Street there was a three-year-old who'd always wake up screaming with nightmares — except on bath night. One night one of the sisters tried putting her in the bathtub after her nightmare, then put her back to bed. She fell asleep immediately."

Jennifer looked mystified. "How did you find out about it?"

He grinned at her. "My room was next to the bathroom."

H2H H2H H2H

"I can't believe we're doing this," Jennifer whispered as they crept down the trail to the pool. "I feel like I'm back in boarding school and any second I'm going to get yelled at for breaking curfew."

"Don't worry," Jonathan replied, chuckling softly. "I don't think Max gives out demerits."

Jennifer giggled. "Now that you say that I have this picture of him as a headmaster at a military school, facing errant school boys who are quaking as they stand in his office."

Jonathan's eyes were full of mischief. "How do you think we first met?" Jennifer clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh.

They reached the pool and tossed their towels and robes onto one of the nearby chairs. Jennifer started down the steps and promptly gasped. "Soothing effect? This is freezing!"

"Only one way around that — just plunge in." Not wanting to make too loud of a splash, even though they were relatively isolated, Jonathan sat down on the edge and quickly slipped in and under the water, coming up immediately with a wince. "Wow. Okay, maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

Jennifer took the last two steps quickly, then forced herself to drop her body the rest of the way. "Ooh-ooh!" She started to come up, then quickly ducked her shoulders back under. "Darling, so far I'm not finding this all that relaxing."

Jonathan came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, letting her lean in. "That better?"

She giggled and snuggled back into him. "Much better."

They bobbed around like that in the water for several minutes, slowly adjusting to the temperature. The air was almost completely still, and Jennifer sighed. "What a beautiful night."

"Not just the night," Jonathan said softly, gently kissing her hair. Jennifer smiled, and squeezed his hand.

"I take it back. This was a great idea."

"This is just part of it." Jonathan gently loosened his arms. "Now try floating on your back, resting your head on my shoulder." Jennifer did so and he lightly wrapped his arms on either side of hers. "Now close your eyes."

He began to slowly move backward, gently pulling her with him in a slow circle around the pool. Jennifer's breathing slowed and he could feel her growing more and more relaxed. For several minutes the only sound was the quiet movement of the water. Then he heard Jennifer's voice, sounding drowsy.

"Maybe insomnia isn't so bad after all."

H2H H2H H2H

A tear tricked down Jonathan's cheek at the memory and he unconsciously wiped it away. _That_, he thought ruefully, _all depended on the reason for the insomnia in the first place_.

H2H H2H H2H

"Mr. H.?"

Jonathan looked up from where he'd been flipping distractedly through the condolence book at the kitchen table. "In here, Max."

The older man entered the room. "I finally got a hold of Dominique — that look-alike lady and her husband."

Jonathan looked up at him. "They weren't at the funeral, were they?" he said quietly.

Max slowly shook his head. "They actually hadn't even known about it till I called. They said to tell you their condolences. I'm sorry, Mr. H."

Jonathan sighed. "I guess we're back to the hallucination theory." He looked back down at the condolence book and turned the page, slowly running his finger down the columns. Suddenly he stilled. "Max."

The older man looked over at him, then gasped. "Mr. H., you're as white as that book page. What's wrong?"

"Is this another grief hallucination?" Jonathan's voice was careful, almost as though he didn't trust it, and his hand shook as he handed Max the condolence book. "Right-hand side, first column, eighth name from the bottom."

Max read where he indicated, then just stared back at Jonathan. "If it is, then I'm seeing things too."

The entry was signed, "Jennifer Hart".


	4. Hartsick

**A/N: By the way, that incident with the guestbook at the end of the last chapter is based on something that actually happened at a funeral I attended. In that case however, the deceased had a cousin with the identical first and last name. (Why the idiot couldn't include his middle name or at least initial is something I'm still trying to figure out). Needless to say, it gave a few of us who saw the entry more than a bit of a shock! **

**Also, the scene with Freeway in this chapter is based on something that happened with one of my dogs when we had to put another to sleep.**

**.**

Chapter 4: Hartsick

"Mr. Hart, all I can say is that there are some sick people out there."

It was the next day and Jonathan had taken the condolence book down to the police station in hopes of getting some answers. Unfortunately, he wasn't getting anywhere.

"They forged my wife's signature in the condolence book for her own funeral," Jonathan retorted with some degree of heat. "I'd say that goes beyond 'sick', Detective."

Detective Morgan' voice was sympathetic. "For what it's worth, there have unfortunately been other funerals where this has happened in the past. I just keep hoping whoever the little jerk is loses someone close to him someday and gets a taste of the pain he's been inflicting."

"Were the other funeral victims for murder victims too?" Jonathan questioned.

Detective Morgan looked at him for several seconds, then said quietly, "Mr. Hart, I'm sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but I'm afraid all the evidence indicates your wife's death was an accident."

Jonathan stared at him in disbelief. "What?'

"I am so sorry," Detective Morgan said. "I realize how hard this must be on you."

"No, I don't think you realize anything," Jonathan shot back. "Jennifer was killed in an explosion. How exactly does that translate to 'an accident'?"

"The explosion was the result of a malfunction in the gas line. The lab tested it and found no indication of tampering or foul play."

"Just because you can't find it doesn't mean it wasn't there. You asked me for that list of people who would have a grudge against Jennifer," Jonathan reminded him. "Did you check any of them out?"

"A few of them, but they were all still incarcerated and once we had the cause of the explosion, there wasn't much point in continuing," the Detective replied.

"What about Mrs. Albers, the woman Jennifer went to interview?" Jonathan said desperately. "Did you at least talk to her, find out if the story was real?"

"Unfortunately, she was killed in the explosion along with your wife," Detective Morgan answered. "We did speak to an aide in her office who confirmed she had an appointment with your wife, but she didn't know what it was about. The explosion occurred in the office building, so there's no way to know where this secret room was if it did exist." He shrugged helplessly. "I wish I had something else I could tell you, Mr. Hart. Believe me. I would like nothing better to knock on your door and that of Mrs. Albers' husband and tell you we have the bastard responsible for killing both of them and that he was going to rot in prison for the rest of his life. But it's not always that cut-and-dried. Sometimes there isn't a killer to pay for what's happened. Sometimes people just die without any reason."

Jonathan took a deep breath, struggling to control his emotions. "There was a reason Jennifer was bothered about the interview that morning. I'd stake my life on that."

"Mr. Hart, you said yourself that you'd tried to brush aside her concern," the Detective said softly. "Isn't it possible that the importance you're reading into her reaction now is really a fear that you didn't take her seriously enough and you're trying to atone for that misplaced sense of guilt?"

Jonathan just stared at him. "Yes, Detective," he said very quietly. "I did make a mistake in not putting more weight on what Jennifer was saying, and that mistake may be what cost her her life. And I'm going to have to live with that."

He leaned in closer. "But what I won't be is the one who closes this case as an accident and lets a killer walk free. So if you want to find someone who might feel like they need to atone for some guilt, take a look in the mirror, Detective. Because trust me, it won't be misplaced."

Jonathan started towards the door, then turned back. "It may be too late to save Jennifer's life," he said in a barely audible voice. "But it's not too late to listen."

H2H H2H H2H

Jonathan stepped into the library at the Tormandyne Academy and walked over to the reference desk. A young woman sat behind it, with a nametag reading "Mary Lou." "Excuse me," Jonathan said with a smile. "I'm helping a colleague of mine do some research for an article about the school. I was wondering if you'd be able to help me."

Mary Lou looked surprised. "I can try," she answered.

"Have you ever heard anything about there being a hidden room found on the campus?" Jonathan asked.

The young woman's eyes widened. "Oh, you must be writing about that explosion last week."

It was all Jonathan could do not to wince, but he forced a smile. "That's right."

She shrugged. "That would be something if Mrs. Albers had actually found it. There's all kinds of stories about it, but you never get a straight answer from the people who tell them whether there's any truth to them. To tell you the truth, I don't think anyone really knows anymore."

Jonathan raised his eyebrows. "What sort of stories?"

"Supposedly during the time of the Underground Railroad, there was a rumor going around that a couple of the teachers were secretly educating young black women on the campus. There were a few teachers at the time who had suspected Abolitionist ties, even though of course they could never admit it. A couple people thought they each saw a young black woman enter the library, but never exit. The authorities searched, but never found anything, so people figured there had to be a secret room where they were hidden."

"I see," Jonathan answered. "But nothing was ever proven?"

Mary Lou shook her head. "No, but the rumors took on a life of their own. According to some there's a whole network of rooms — enough for dorms, classrooms, everything — all hidden somewhere in the walls or under the library." She rolled her eyes again. "And then there's your usual group of idiots — the ones who claim they know of a girl who 'stumbled into the room by accident and found several skeletons inside, but then could never find the entrance again to show anyone." She snorted. "Like someone wouldn't have noticed the smell of rotting corpses if that had happened."

Jonathan chuckled in spite of himself at that. "Good point."

Mary Lou smiled too, then frowned. "What I find weird is that it's Mrs. Albers of all people who would have discovered it."

Jonathan blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, first of all, we get a lot of people in here who are trying to find the room. We always have to stop them so they're not disturbing anyone who's here trying to study," Mary Lou explained. "The only way you could really search without getting caught is if you were here after the library was closed. But the only people who would have keys would be the library staff."

"And Mrs. Albers wasn't one of them," Jonathan guessed.

Mary Lou shook her head. "She worked in the vocational nursing department."

That got Jonathan's attention. "I thought she was the headmistress?"

"No." Mary Lou looked confused. "Where did you get that idea?"

"Uh, one of the interns who works in our office," Jonathan said quickly. "I think I'd better go have a word with him. But thanks very much for your help."

"Anytime."

Jonathan started towards the doors, then paused, casually taking the place in. The library itself was large, with almost constant rows of bookshelves monopolizing most of the ground floor and a second story running around three sides like a U, with an open view of the main floor.

A figure on the second floor caught his attention and he stopped. Jennifer, dressed in the tan and white outfit she'd been wearing the day of the explosion, standing next to one of the bookshelves. She had a white square that looked like a bandage on the left side of her forehead, where, Jonathan remembered with a start, she'd had the head injury.

Jonathan instinctively opened his mouth to call out to her, then paused. The last time he'd tried that, she'd disappeared. He didn't think she'd noticed him this time; maybe he could quietly catch up to her and find out once and for all what was going on.

The upstairs was set up in alcoves of bookshelves, each with a study table. Jonathan silently counted the number from the closest staircase, then headed towards it, doing his best to appear casual.

He reached the stairs and hurried up, doing his best to ignore the quizzical glances from students surprised to see a man in the library of a women's college. Jennifer or whoever he'd seen had been standing next to the bookshelves about five alcoves down. Jonathan gave the first four a cursory glance as he passed, just in case she'd moved, then quickly rounded the corner into the fifth.

Two students stood by one of the shelves, talking quietly about one of the books. A third sat taking notes at the table. Jennifer, however, was nowhere in sight.

Not ready to give up, Jonathan quickly checked the other alcoves, until he was standing at the second staircase, directly across from where he'd come up. Nothing. Frustrated, he leaned over the railing, desperately scanning the figures milling around. Twice he thought he'd spotted her, until the figure turned and he realized it was somebody else. Jonathan sighed.

He'd lost her. Again.

H2H H2H H2H

"So you're telling me the police don't see anything wrong with the fact that Mrs. H. signed the condolence book for her own funeral?"

It was later that evening, and Jonathan was sitting on one of the stools in the kitchen, updating Max on what he'd learned — or rather, not learned that afternoon. Jonathan noticed with some secret satisfaction that Max didn't seem to be taking the police response any better than he had.

"According to Detective Morgan, it's 'some sick individual's idea of a prank'," Jonathan quoted. "End quote."

Max muttered something that Jonathan figured he was better off not hearing before looking him in the eye. "Mr. H., I am the first to admit that I was no saint in my youth. I pulled more than my share of pranks, some of which I'll tell you right now crossed a line. But even at my worst id' have known better than to try anything like that."

Jonathan smiled slightly. "You're preaching to the converted, Max."

"True." Max shrugged. "_You_ would have known better than that."

The words were delivered so matter-of-factly that Jonathan stared at him for a second, before breaking into a rueful chuckle. "Thanks. I needed that."

"Don't mention it. So how does Detective Morgan explain that it was Mrs. H.'s handwriting?"

"She was a public figure whose signature is several places, including autographs. It would be easy to find a copy," Jonathan parroted. Max just snorted.

"Mr. H., that's a lot of planning for a prank."

"Tell Morgan that." Jonathan sighed. "I also tried going over to Tormandyne Academy." He related what Mary Lou had told him. "Unfortunately I couldn't get an appointment with any of the administrators to see what they know. The only useful thing that I picked up is that Mrs. Albers was not the headmistress." He hesitated. "I feel guilty doing it, but I think I should look at Jennifer's notes for the appointment. I want to make sure I'm not misremembering what she said and there may be more stuff there that I should know."

He frowned, noticing suddenly that there was something a little off about his surroundings. "Max, where's Freeway?"

Max looked up at him in surprise. "He's not with you?"

Jonathan shook his head. "No."

The older man walked over to check behind the table, then shook his head. "That dog's hardly left your side since..." He broke off, catching himself.

"I know," Jonathan said quickly. He stood up and headed for the door to the living room. "Freeway? Freeway!" The dog was nowhere in sight and Jonathan walked towards the front hall. "Freeway!"

Suddenly the dog's face poked through between the posts of the upstairs railing. Jonathan smiled with relief. "There you are." Raising his voice, he called, "It's okay, Max. I found him."

Max hurried out to join him. "Where is he?"

Jonathan pointed. "Up there."

"What's he doing upstairs?" Max asked with a frown.

"I don't know. Jonathan looked back at Freeway. "Freeway, here boy. Come on." The dog pulled back quickly and disappeared back down the hall. Jonathan exchanged confused looks with Max, then hurried up the stairs, the other man close behind.

"Freeway, what are you doing?" Jonathan asked, keeping his voice light. "We're both downstairs."

The dog walked up to one of the guest rooms and pawed at the door with a whine. Jonathan raised his eyebrows and walked forward. "You want in? Okay, there you go." He opened the door and Freeway hurried inside, where he immediately started sniffing around the corners of the furniture, looking behind everything. After a minute he came out again and went into the bedroom across the hall, where he and Jonathan had been spending the past few nights. Again he looked around all the furniture, then, not finding what he was looking for, headed down the hall to the bathroom. He took a quick look inside, then walked back down the hall, his head and tail both lowered. Slowly he padded back until he was in front of the door to Jonathan and Jennifer's room. He pawed that door too for a second, then laid down in front of it with a whimper, his eyes fixated in case anyone should exit. Realization hit Jonathan and he closed his eyes. "Oh, man."

Max shook his head slowly. "Is he looking for..." His voice trailed off as Jonathan nodded mutely, then moved forward to scoop the dog up.

"It's okay, Freeway," Jonathan said softly as he gently stroked the dog's back. Freeway whimpered again and burrowed his head in Jonathan's neck. "I know. I miss her too." He looked back at Max. "He's looking for Jennifer."

H2H H2H H2H

_It's been a week_, Jonathan thought dully as he sat down at the patio table early the next morning. A week ago he'd sat and talked with Jennifer for the last time. The thought just about made him sick.

"Mr. H.?"

Jonathan jumped at the sound of the other man's voice. "I'm sorry, Max. I didn't mean to wake you up. I'll go back inside."

Max sat down across the table from him. "It's 4:30 in the morning. When did you get up?"

Jonathan couldn't look at him. "I didn't." Quickly he changed the subject. "I read through Jennifer's file on the Tormandyne story. She _did_ have Mrs. Albers down as the headmistress."

"Gonna let the police know?" Max asked him.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "They'll probably just say it's more of my 'misplaced guilt'." He sighed. "The thing is, they'd only be half wrong."

Max just shook his head. "Mr. H..."

"Detective Morgan said 'misplaced'," Jonathan explained. "Max, Jennifer was starting to get red flags about that story. Only I didn't take it seriously."

Max didn't answer right away, and when he did his voice was much too casual. "Do you remember what you were like when we first met?"

Jonathan blinked, surprised at the change of subject, then chuckled ruefully. "Hard to forget."

"You know, there were a lot of times I had to sit you down and straighten out your way of thinking." Max's voice was still casual. "You've changed a lot since then."

"Thank goodness."

"But apparently not enough." The older man wasn't sounding casual anymore. "You're forgetting a couple of things. Important ones, too."

"Like what?" Jonathan's voice was guarded.

"Like how stubborn Mrs. H. could be when she thought something was wrong," Max said bluntly. "Mr. H., you didn't take her concerns seriously because at that point she wasn't taking them seriously either. She was starting to find something a little off, but if she'd been really worried at that point, you never would've missed it." He smirked slightly. "She wouldn't have let you."

The description was so Jennifer that Jonathan couldn't help but smile. "I always loved that about her," he said softly. "Even from the time we met." After a minute he looked over at Max. "What was the second thing?"

"She knew how much you loved her, Mr. H." Max's voice was more gentle this time. "She wouldn't be blaming you for this."

Jonathan didn't respond for several seconds. Finally, he said quietly, "I thought I saw Jennifer again, Max."

Max stared at him. "When?"

"Yesterday, at the library," Jonathan answered, his voice still quiet. "I saw her upstairs while I was on the main floor. Only she disappeared again before I could reach her."

"Was she in the green dress again?" Max asked carefully.

"No. She was back in that white and tan outfit she was wearing when she was..." Jonathan broke off, unable to say the word. "When they found her. The weird thing was, I noticed her forehead this time. She had a bandage on, the same place she had the cut from the explosion. If she was in the explosion."

"If, Mr. H.?" Max asked gently.

"I know we saw her in the morgue. But if I'm hallucinating..." Jonathan looked up at him, his blue eyes full of pain. "Then why wouldn't I be seeing her the way I knew her, where I knew her? Why would be seeing her like that?"

Max took a deep breath. "I just told you she knew how much you loved her." Jonathan nodded. "She loved you like that too. I don't know exactly what's going on, but I do know one thing. Mrs. H. wouldn't put you through this." He took a deep breath. "You knew Mrs. H. You still know her. If she were really alive, she would be getting in touch with us, letting you know she's okay. She wouldn't sign a condolence book or do stuff to screw with your head like this."

A memory flashed into Jonathan's mind as Max was talking, of another time where he'd been sitting at the patio table. Jennifer, hugging him, and telling him, "I love you and that's all you ever have to remember." Tears welled up in his eyes.

"I miss her, Max," he whispered. His shoulders started shaking with sobs. Max reached out a hand and Jonathan grabbed it tightly. "I just miss her so much."

Without letting go, Max slipped out of his seat and came around the side of the table, pulling Jonathan up into a hug. "I know, Mr. H. I know."


	5. Hesitation

**Thanks for all the great reviews, everyone.**

Chapter 5: Hesitation

It was a few days later when Jonathan made the decision to return to Hart Industries, if only on a part-time basis.

Realistically he knew it was probably too soon, but the second hallucination or whatever it was, combined with Freeway's behaviour, had decided him. He had no intention of giving up his search for Jennifer's killer, but he had to bring some normalcy back into his life, and there was no way he was going to get that at home anymore. The office at least was familiar, and, more importantly, unchanged, and just maybe it would provide him with some grounding. Or at least a distraction.

H2H H2H H2H

Deanne Collins wasn't sure what to expect when her boss returned to work that day. She hadn't seen him since the funeral, which she, like a lot of Hart Industries employees, had attended. Jonathan Hart was a popular employer, well-liked by his staff, and those who'd known her had adored his wife as well. Jennifer had been a frequent visitor at the office during the six years Deanne had been working there, stopping by at one time of day or another to see her husband. Deanne didn't think she'd ever seen a couple more in love, which made the whole thing so much harder to take. No matter who it happened to it would have been a tragedy, but to see it happen to the Harts of all people made it seem so much worse and unfair.

The office door opened and Deanne steeled herself, then looked up — and had to quickly stifle her initial gasp. Jonathan Hart's face was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes, as though he hadn't been sleeping. Deanne couldn't be sure, but she thought his suit jacket seemed a little loose as well, as though he had lost weight. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Good morning, Mr. Hart."

"Good morning, Deanne." Jonathan's voice was quieter than usual, but he still managed a slight smile for her. "How are you?"

"All right. Mr. Hart, I just wanted you to know..." She hesitated for a moment. "I'm...I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Deanne," he said softly. "Hold all my calls, all right?" She nodded and he exited into his office.

H2H H2H H2H

Jonathan closed the office door behind him, then leaned against it and closed his eyes. To his surprise he could feel beads of perspiration on his forehead. In the back of his mind was the nagging thought that he was probably pushing too much, too soon, but he resolutely pushed the thought away. He was going to have to do this sooner or later and it was never going to get any easier.

He'd left a request for Deanne to leave folders of the latest reports on his desk. He supposed it was as good a place as any to start. Taking a deep breath, he walked across the room and sat down, then opened the first file.

Jonathan wasn't sure how long he'd stared at the pages or how many times he'd reread the same information before he realized none of it was sinking in. He tossed the file down and shoved his chair back, frustrated, then stood up and walked over to look out the window.

Outside people were milling around, many of them Hart employees or people on their way to do business with the company. Most of them were familiar to him, if only by their faces. Unconsciously Jonathan found himself trying to match names and positions to the faces he was seeing. The young blonde woman stopping to give directions to a newcomer: Alexandra Heenan, from the downstairs reception desk. The slight young man with brown hair hurrying towards the entrance: Lou Kynn, a corporate attorney from the office around the block and a royal pain in the rear end. The gray-haired man laughing with a coworker on his way out the door: Mark Clemens, from the media relations department. A good guy other than his habit of sometimes exaggerating his reports. The tall, redheaded woman standing next to some shrubbery in an almost direct eye-line to his office. Jonathan closed his eyes and groaned. This could not be happening again.

He opened his eyes and looked over again where she'd been standing. She was still there, dressed in the tan-and-white outfit from the library again. As Jonathan watched, as gentleman stopped her to ask a question. She just shrugged, her expression confused.

"I love you and that's all you ever have to remember." Jennifer's words passed through Jonathan's mind and he forced himself to turn away from the window. And promptly found himself face-to-face with the photo of Jennifer he'd always kept on his desk. He reached over and picked it up.

"I almost feel like I'm remembering too much about you, Darling," he whispered.

A dull ache began to form behind his forehead and he absently reached up to rub the side of his temple. He'd skipped breakfast and was paying for it now. Gently he set Jennifer's picture down and pressed the intercom button on his phone. "Deanne?"

"Yes, Mr. Hart?"

"Could you ask the cafeteria to send up a coffee and a bagel?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Hart."

"Thanks, Deanne." Jonathan hung up, then slowly turned back around, unable to keep himself from checking the window again. His eyes went immediately to the spot next to the bushes.

It was as he thought. She was gone.

H2H H2H H2H

It was a little over an hour later when the office door opened and Jonathan Hart stepped out. Deanne looked over at him.

"I think I'm going to call it a day, Deanne," Jonathan told her. She nodded in understanding.

"It was good to see you again, Mr. Hart," she said quietly.

"Thanks." He offered her a faint smile. "Have a good evening." Deanne opened her mouth to return the automatic reply, then caught herself. Jonathan had obviously noticed her expression, because he held up a quick hand. "It's okay." He started towards the door, then stopped and turned back. "Oh, can you ask Andrew to send up the report from the Arizona meeting?"

She nodded quickly. "I'll call him right now. Goodbye, Mr. Hart."

"Goodbye, Deanne."

It was later, when Deanne was setting the file on his desk, that she noticed it. The remains of a bagel, untouched except for two or three bites, in the garbage can.

H2H H2H H2H

A light wind had started to fall by the time Jonathan arrived at the cemetery. The place was virtually deserted, for which he was grateful. The thought of seeing another graveside service was more than he could stand.

Jonathan carefully wound his way through the pathways until he reached it. The temporary grave marker at the head of the still-fresh grave. As a matter of reflex, he checked the tag, even though every detail of this location was permanently etched into his mind. "Jennifer Rebecca Hart. Date of Birth: November 2, 1946. Date of Death: May 8, 1985." It was as far as he got before his vision blurred and he quickly sank to his knees next to the raised mound of earth.

"Oh, Darling," he whispered. With one hand he gently caressed the dirt mount, the closest he would ever get to touching her again. "The other clenched a simple bouquet of white roses. "Oh, Jennifer."

After a moment, he swallowed. "I think this is where I'm supposed to say the whole, 'I'm doing better, I'm going to be okay,' thing." Jonathan tried to smile, but could only manage a whisper. "But you always wanted me to tell you the truth."

He sighed, briefly looking up at the tree in the row in front of him, before looking back at the grave. "Jennifer, the truth is, I think I'm losing it." Jonathan took a deep breath. "I know I saw you...in the morgue that day. And in my head, I know that right now you're...well, you're here." He touched the dirt beside him. "I mean, not all of you. But your...I mean, I know you're not...you are..." He rubbed his face with his hand, agitated. "I can't even say it."

His eyes drifted back to the grave marker. "Date of Death: May 8, 1985."

Jonathan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. In a choked whisper, he said, "I know...you're...dead."

He fought the urge to bring both arms around his midsection, the words a harder blow than any person could ever give. He clenched a fist around a handful of dirt, leaning forward slightly. After several long seconds he slowly opened his eyes and started back at the grave marker. In a softer whisper, he repeated, "I know you're dead."

A bird chirped behind him and he jumped, then quickly whipped his head around, his eyes frantically searching the cemetery. From what he could tell, he was alone. Forcing himself to relax, Jonathan looked down at the mound of earth, gently caressing it again.

"Jennifer, I keep thinking I'm seeing you," he said quietly. "The first time was at the church during the funeral. I thought I saw you watching me at the back. Then the other day I went down to Tormandyne College and I thought I saw you again, in the library. And then this morning at work, for a second I was sure I saw you talking to someone on the sidewalk below my office."

His eyes moved back to the grave marker. "Twice I tried to catch up to you, but whoever it was disappeared before I could." He sighed. "In my head I know it's not you. It can't be. Even if by some miracle you were alive, you wouldn't play games with my head like this. I know that."

Jonathan's voice grew softer and more fervent. "But if you could just see for yourself...You seem so real. At first I thought maybe it was just someone who looked a little like you and my mind was playing tricks on me. But I'm even seeing your clothing, outfits I remember you wearing, the way you looked the last time I saw you." He shook his head in frustration. "I just don't understand. I don't understand what's happening to me."

A tap on his shoulder made him jump, and he turned quickly, then gasped. "No..."

He was seeing Jennifer, standing a couple of feet away. An eerie, numb feeling was starting in his head, like when his foot fell asleep, as he took in the clothes from the explosion, the bandage on her forehead. His eyes travelled to the pile of earth beside him, the grave marker with his wife's name. Jennifer's words echoed through his memory, "I love you, and that's all you ever have to remember."

It was too much. Jonathan crumpled to the ground, unconscious.


	6. Holding On

Chapter 6: Holding On

Jennifer wasn't with him.

The realization hit Jonathan even before he was fully awake. Jennifer was not lying in bed beside him. He had to find her. He had to find Jennifer. Had to...

Jonathan's eyes flew open and he found himself staring at bright light surrounded by white walls. He was instantly alert. This was not his bedroom. Frantically he scanned the room. "Jennifer?"

"Mr. H." Max appeared at his shoulder. Jonathan reached up and grabbed his arm.

"Max, where am I? Where's Jennifer?"

"Mr. H., take it easy." Max's voice was steady, but reluctant. "You're in the hospital."

"Mr. Hart?" A young woman with short blonde hair appeared behind Max. "I'm Dr. Borden. How are you feeling?"

"Where am I?" Jonathan repeated, his voice sterner this time. "And where is my wife? Where's Jennifer?"

"Mr. Hart, you were found unconscious next to your wife's grave." The doctor measured her words carefully. "Do you remember what happened?"

"No." Jonathan shook his head and looked back at Max. "Jennifer's not dead. I saw her there, at the graveside." He looked back up at Dr. Borden. "Is she the one who brought me in?" He raised his head, trying to see around Max and the doctor. "Where is she? I want to see her."

"Mr. Hart, a couple that was visiting the cemetery found you unconscious next to your wife Jennifer's grave," Dr. Borden repeated. "We ran tests and there's no sign of a concussion or any struggle. Now your friend Max said that you haven't been eating or sleeping very well since your wife died. I'm guessing that between that and the emotional stress you've been under, you simply collapsed. Does any of this sound familiar?"

Jonathan sighed and brought his hand up to his forehead in frustration. "They got her again."

"Mr. H." Max put a hand on his shoulder, but Jonathan quickly grabbed his arm again.

"Max, Jennifer's alive." Jonathan looked straight into the older man's eyes. "I saw her. At the graveyard. She was standing right in front of me. She touched my shoulder." His voice sounded like he was on the verge of tears and he grabbed Max's arm tighter. "She's not dead, Max. Jennifer's out there, somewhere, and we need to find her!"

Max exchanged a helpless look with Dr. Borden, a look Jonathan noticed. He swung an accusing look back at the doctor. "You didn't answer my question. Where am I?"

"Mr. Hart, you're at the Stella Ravallo clinic," Dr. Borden said quietly.

"Stella Ravallo clinic," Jonathan repeated slowly. Suddenly, realization hit and he struggled to sit up. "That's a mental care facility!"

"Mr. Hart..." Dr. Borden began, but Jonathan quickly cut her off.

"I'm not crazy, Doctor!" He looked over at Max. "Max, grab my coat." Jonathan pushed back the blankets. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, Doctor, but I am not staying here. My wife is alive and out there somewhere, and I'm going to find her." He turned back to Max, who hadn't moved. "Max, what are you doing?"

"Mr. H., it's only for a couple of days, just till you get your strength back." Max looked like he'd aged about ten years, if not more. "Mr. H., you're not eating, you're not sleeping. You heard the doc. You passed out." Slowly he shook his head. "Burying Mrs. H. was bad enough. I'm not burying you, too."

Tears came into Jonathan's eyes and he started at his old friend in disbelief. "Max, you don't understand. A couple of days could be too late. Jennifer is out there, now, and who knows what they're doing to her! We have to find her, now!"

Dr. Borden nodded at an orderly, who quietly came up and gently injected Jonathan in the arm. Jonathan flinched, then looked back and forth between Dr. Borden and Max in sick realization. "No," he whispered. "Please."

H2H H2H H2H

It was dark when Jonathan finally woke up again. For a moment he lay still, letting his eyes adjust to the light, fighting his instinctive reaction to jump out of bed immediately and start finding a way out. If he was going to get out of this and help Jennifer, he would need to stay awake and unmedicated.

The light in his room was off, but he could see a soft blue light in the hallway through the window of the door. From what he could tell, the unit itself was silent and he guessed it was past curfew or whatever they called it there.

Carefully, so as not to arouse the attention of the night nurse, Jonathan got up and began to carefully examine his surroundings. To his frustration, but not surprise, both the door and the window were locked, and the only vent was a small one. However, in the drawer of the night table, he found a notepad and a pencil. Jonathan grabbed them and quickly climbed back onto the bed, then began feverishly writing down everything he could remember about the case. "Hang on, Jennifer," he whispered. "I'm coming for you."

H2H H2H H2H

"How are you holding up, Mr. H?"

"I'd be better if I could get out of here," Jonathan responded flatly.

It was the next day and Max had come to see him. Max had been able to convince the doctor to let them talk privately rather than in the general visitation area, and they were sitting across a table from each other in what resembled a police interrogation room.

"Max, you've got to listen to me." Jonathan leaned forward and struggled to keep his voice calm. He had to convince Max to believe him. "Jennifer isn't dead. I know how it sounds, but it's true. She touched my shoulder. I saw her standing a couple feet away from me. It was her, Max. I know it."

"Mr. H., we talked about this," Max told him. "Mrs. H. would never do something like this to you."

"Not intentionally. But what if she's being held against her will?" Jonathan's eyes flashed. "Don't you see? That's why she keeps disappearing. They bring her out, let me see her, and then snatch her away again. They are using her to get to me."

"But Mr. H., even if that were true, she'd still try to do something," Max protested. "She wouldn't just sit there and let them do this to you without fighting back."

"Maybe she can't. Maybe they've brainwashed her. Maybe..." Jonathan sighed. "Maybe they told her they'd kill me if she didn't cooperate."

"Okay. Let's say that's what's happened." Max took a deep breath. "How do you explain us both seeing her body in the morgue."

Jonathan slumped back in his chair. "I don't know," he admitted. "But somebody is going to some pretty desperate measures to make it look like I'm going crazy. Which reminds me." He leaned forward again. "Morgan said there had been other cases of people signing the condolence book at funerals with the name of the person who died. Call Lieutenant Gray. See if he can give you the names and if you can talk to the families. I think Morgan was right about it being the same person, but I don't think it's some teenager playing a prank."

H2H H2H H2H

"Okay, Mr. Hart, here's your medication." The nurse offered him a smile as she handed him the little cup.

"Thanks so much," Jonathan quipped. He poured the little pills into his palm and brought his hand to his mouth, before grabbing the cup of water and taking several swallows. Almost immediately he shook his head, making a little face. "Is there some sort of institutional requirement forbidding patients to be given any pills that don't have a chalky aftertaste?"

The nurse just laughed. "Have a good night's rest, Mr. Hart."

Jonathan waited till she'd walked several steps down the hall before quickly depositing the pills he still had cupped in his hand down the heating register.

H2H H2H H2H

Later that night, the young nurse shone her flashlight through the window in the door of Jonathan's room. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, curled up on his side with the blankets tucked tightly around his shoulders. She smiled and continued down the corridor.

After her footsteps had receded, Jonathan rolled over onto his back. This time he was the one smiling.

H2H H2H H2H

"Max, I think I know how they might have gotten to Jennifer," Jonathan said in the visiting room the next day. "Remember that cut she had on her forehead from the explosion?"

Max nodded, his expression wary. "Uh-huh."

"What if she had a concussion — or amnesia, like I did that one time?" Jonathan's eyes lit up with hope. "She might not even realize what she's doing."

"Then how would she know to sign her own name in the condolence book?" Max pointed out.

"It would be just a name to her that someone told her was hers. It wouldn't mean anything." Jonathan frowned. "That reminds me. What did Lieutenant Gray tell you?"

"He didn't remember the case specifically, but he's going to check into it and get back to me," Max reported. "And that pipsqueak Morgan is on vacation the next few days, so I couldn't talk to him."

"What about that list of cases we gave the detectives of people who might have a grudge against Jennifer and I? Jonathan asked. "Did we keep a copy?" Max nodded. "Could you make yourself a copy to go through, and then bring me the other one?"

Max chose his words carefully. "You really think someone you put away is behind this?"

Jonathan's face was grim. "They're making this personal, and the only way I can see someone going to something this sick is if they think they have a cause that needs avenging." He took a deep breath. "It's about payback, and Jennifer's caught in the middle."

H2H H2H H2H

Jonathan's sleep was restless that night. Disturbing images kept playing and replaying in his mind.

He and Jennifer were back at the cemetery. Jonathan was digging at one of the graves with a shovel, but hadn't gotten very far. Jennifer was yelling at him.

"Jonathan, you can't do this!"

"I have to!"

"What do you hope to gain by this?"

"The truth is here, Jennifer. I know it is."

"Even if you find it, what good will it do? It's not going to change anything."

He looked up at her then, his eyes pleading. "You can't mean that. Please."

"Jonathan, you have to accept it. There's nothing there to find. You've got to face that."

"Darling, please!" A catch came into his voice. "You can't give up!"

"It's too late." She turned and started walking away down the row. "Goodbye, Jonathan."

"Darling, no! Don't leave!" He was screaming now, and tears streamed down his cheeks. She didn't turn around, just kept walking farther away. In a broken whisper, he repeated, "Don't leave me."

As he watched, a man stepped out from between the tombstones and asked said something to Jennifer. She stopped and stared at him, confused.

Jonathan's heart leaped. This was his chance. He dropped the shovel and started running towards his wife. "Darling, wait!" he called. "Come back! Come back!"

H2H H2H H2H

"Come back," Jonathan moaned, his head turning restlessly on the pillow. "Come back."

Suddenly he was awake and sitting up, his heart pounding and his forehead soaked in sweat. He gasped, trying to catch his breath, and reflexively reached to his left, searching for Jennifer. Then he remembered. He was still in the clinic. Slowly he sank back against the pillow.

The nightmare had seemed so real. _Jennifer_ had seemed so real. Of course, she had seemed real the times he thought he'd seen her, too. A sick feeling came over him.

Was the nightmare his subconscious' way of telling him was time to let go, accept what happened? And yet, he kept going back to when he'd seen Jennifer at the cemetery, feeling her hand on his shoulder, seeing her standing just a few feet away.

He closed his eyes and let his mind travel back to the other times, trying to recall every detail. Jennifer's face, the light on her hair, the way she moved, the look in her eyes...

Jonathan's eyes flew open with a start. That was it. He mentally replayed the end of his nightmare, then he flashed back to the third time he thought he'd seen Jennifer. A single tear trickled down his cheek.

There was still a lot about this he wasn't understanding, but he did know one thing for certain. He was _not_ seeing things.


	7. Hope

Chapter 7: Hope

The next day, when Max came to see him, Jonathan wasted no time. "You've got to get me out of here. Now."

"Mr. H..." the older man began, but Jonathan shook his head.

"Listen to me. I remembered something important last night. The day I collapsed, I didn't just see Jennifer at the cemetery. I saw her once before that too. At Hart Industries. And I wasn't the only one."

Max stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I looked out the window of my office and Jennifer was standing next to the bushes across from the window. But here's the thing: While she was standing there, a man came up to ask her something." Jonathan's eyes started to glisten. "If I was really hallucinating whenever I saw Jennifer, then how could someone else have seen her too?"

"Do you know who he was?" Max asked him, trying to keep his voice calm.

Jonathan shook his head. "I've never seen him before. But if he didn't recognize her, then it's a safe bet he's not from Hart Industries."

"Unless that's what he was asking her about." Max was getting excited in spite of himself. "But then you'd think he'd have said something and we'd have heard about it."

"Yeah." Jonathan's voice sounded distant, and Max could see the mixture of emotions on his face. He put a gentle hand on the younger man's arm. "You gonna be okay, Mr. H.?"

Max never forgot the look on his face as he slowly looked up, his blue eyes a mixture of pain and determination. "I will when we bring her home."

H2H H2H H2H

"Mr. Hart, I have to be honest with you and say I do have reservations about this," Dr. Borden said quietly. It was a short time later, and Max and Jonathan were meeting with her in her office.

"Such as?" Jonathan's voice was direct.

"Well for starters, the whole reason you were in here in the first place was because during the previous work you'd done on this investigation had pushed you to your physical and mental limits." She studied him. "And that was simply trying to investigate your wife's murder. You're now attempting to go after a person who — if what you say is true — is an extremely disturbed individual who has proven capable of manipulating you emotionally and psychologically will probably not hesitate to again. And before, you were operating under the impression you knew your wife's fate, and the worst case scenario."

Dr. Borden took a deep breath. "Excuse me for being blunt, but you will not have that guarantee this time until it is over. At any point, this person holding your wife may choose to kill her after all, assuming he even still has her — or that he ever did and that all of this wasn't simply another form of manipulation, using a disguise or plastic surgery."

Jonathan smiled slightly. "Or that the man I saw talking to my wife wasn't really just another hallucination my 'grief and denial' dreamed up to keep my hope and delusions alive. Isn't that what you're really wanting to say, Doctor?"

The psychologist looked surprised, but impressed by his candor. "I'll admit, I still have my questions in that regard," she said softly, before leaning forward. "But Mr. Hart, my primary concern is for your psychological well-being. Can you look me in the eye and honesty tell me that you are completely confident you can handle the emotional effects of this investigation, regardless of the outcome?"

"Doctor, at this point, I'm not sure that I can be completely certain of anything," Jonathan said quietly. He looked into her eyes. "But if there's even a chance of saving Jennifer's life, or at least bringing the bastard who did this to justice, then I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

Dr. Borden nodded slowly. "Mr. Hart, I'd like to suggest a compromise," she told him. "You said you believe that the person responsible is someone from your past out for revenge, is that right?" Jonathan nodded. "And that the initial work is going to include going through files of information. How would you feel about doing that initial work here, where I can at least monitor how you're doing?"

Jonathan hesitated and looked over to gauge Max's reaction. The older man nodded encouragingly. "All right," Jonathan said at last. "I'll do it."

H2H H2H H2H

"Okay, Mr. H.," Max said, setting a stack of papers down on the table. "Where do you want to start?"

"Do you remember Owen Grant, the attorney I used to have until he put the contract out on me?" Max nodded and Jonathan continued, "I want to look into whether he or anyone he was in contact with is out of prison and could have done this. Not only would it get him revenge, but it ties into his original goal of getting Jennifer."

Max smiled slowly. "I got a couple contacts who moved in the same circles. I'll find out what they know."

"Thanks." Jonathan looked thoughtfully down at the list he was holding. "You know, some of these incidents started because the killers were out for revenge for some business deal. See if Deanne can pull the files on any recent acquisitions that might have rubbed someone the wrong way. We could be looking at something like that again."

Max nodded. "Will do."

Jonathan's voice took on a quieter tone. "You know, I keep remembering Jennifer's face outside the office when that guy was talking to her. She looked so confused, like she was out of it."

Max hesitated. "You thinking the concussion?"

Jonathan shrugged. "Or brainwashing? We know they tried to screw with my head; why not Jennifer's?" Pain crossed his face and he quickly looked back at the list. "We've got to find her."

H2H H2H H2H

Max had left for the night and Jonathan had returned to his room when he heard it. The gentle sound of Pachilbel's _Canon in D_, playing lightly over the hospital loudspeaker. Jonathan's legs started to buckle and he quickly scrambled to sit down on the bed as the memories threatened to overwhelm him. Pachilbel's _Canon in D_ was the song that Jennifer at walked down the aisle too at their wedding.

Even now, almost nine years later, the memory was so vivid that Jonathan would not have been surprised to open his hospital room door and see it happening again in front of him. He could remember everything: that awful moment right after the music changed and the doorway at the front of the church remained empty for a second that had seemed to freeze in time, and he'd had the brief, sickening fear that something had gone wrong. Jennifer had later admitted that something in fact had — she'd caught sight of Jonathan from an angle as she'd approached the door and had become so overcome by emotion that she'd literally frozen and had to be gently guided forward by her father.

The moment where Jonathan had at last seen her in the doorway. This time he'd been the one overcome by emotion, when his whole body had started trembling slightly at the realization that this beautiful dream was really about to come true.

That entire walk down the aisle. The whole time Jonathan had been unable to take his eyes from Jennifer's face, simply drinking in the joy shining in her eyes, the love in her smile. She had later confirmed that she hadn't been able to take her eyes from his either, that despite all the guests watching, for those moments down the aisle it had really just been the two of them alone.

What Jonathan remembered the most were Jennifer's words as he took her hand after she received the kiss from her father. She'd looked up at Jonathan and whispered, "You don't need to say your vows. You just said them to me with your eyes the whole time I was coming up the aisle."

"You too," he whispered, before breaking traditional wedding etiquette and pulling her into a hug right then and there. There was so much more he wanted to say, but the words wouldn't creep past the lump in his throat even if they'd had the time. Instead he'd simply looked into her eyes and whispered, "I love you."

H2H H2H H2H

Jonathan's cheeks were damp at the memory, but he didn't even try to wipe the tears away. He just hoped he'd have the chance to say those words to her one more time.

H2H H2H H2H

"The prison confirmed Grant's still behind bars," Max reported when he came the next day. "Still waiting to hear from a couple guys on whether he could've gotten someone else to do this for him."

"No," Jonathan shook his head. "Whoever did this would want to be able to see the results for themselves."

"Oh, and Deanne sent over the files on deals Hart Industries has closed recently with possible hard feelings on the other side." Max passed him the stack of folders. "She said the most likely are on top."

"Closed," Jonathan repeated, frowning slightly. "That's it. Max, at Jennifer's funeral, we had a closed casket."

Max immediately knew where Jonathan was going with this and he winced. "Mr. H..."

Jonathan's face was hard. "I'm going to prove once and for all I'm not going crazy," he said in a low voice. "I want to exhume Jennifer's body."

H2H H2H H2H

The air was thick with more than just humidity later that afternoon as three people exited their vehicles and made their way up the path to Jennifer's grave. The tension was practically dripping from the tombstones.

Max was feeling particularly uncomfortable the closer they got. His suggestion that Jonathan be able to investigate the case as 'therapy' had been one thing, especially since Max had firmly believed it would be good for him. There _was_ something off about the condolence book and the lack of investigation into the death itself, if nothing else, and the Harts had almost always been on one investigation or another since they'd first met. If anything could give his friend closure at this point, Max was certain the investigation would. But the grave exhumation was another thing entirely. The old houseman had a feeling all they were going to do was confirm Jennifer Hart's body had been in the coffin the entire time, and he could only imagine the effect that confirmation would have on Jonathan at that point.

Dr. Borden walked a few paces behind Max, but her eyes were on the man walking in front of both of them. She had surprised Max with her quickness to agree to the proposal, but her decision had been based on the honest belief that seeing his wife's body would give Jonathan Hart the confirmation he needed to start moving forward. Watching him now, though, she wasn't so sure.

In the front of the group was Jonathan, who hadn't said a word since they'd left the clinic. His face was a shade paler than usual, but his eyes held a hard resolve that hadn't faded since he'd first made this suggestion. He walked straight ahead, not taking his eyes from the group of cemetery and law enforcement personnel already gathered at their destination.

They reached the grave and Lt. Grey stepped forward. He briefly greeted Max and Dr. Borden, before turning his attention to Jonathan. "You sure you want to do this?"

The other man's voice was leaden as he answered, "Go ahead."

As Lt. Grey signalled for the men to start digging, Max stepped closer to Jonathan. "Are you sure you're ready for this, Mr. H.? I mean, whatever they find?"

Jonathan didn't look at him, his eyes fixed on the men doing the digging. "I haven't been seeing things, Max," Jonathan said steadily. "Jennifer isn't in there."

The digging itself seemed to take forever, despite the fact that a backhoe was doing most of the work. Jonathan was reminded of his nightmare where he'd been attempting to dig up the grave himself with a shovel. He couldn't help but wish he had that shovel in his hands at that moment. Realistically he knew it would take him longer, but simply having to stand there doing nothing was agonizing.

Finally the workmen reached the casket and began hoisting it up. Lt. Gray looked over at Jonathan again. "Do you want to do this here, or do you want me to have it taken back to the M.E.'s for privacy?"

"No." Jonathan shook his head and started forward. "We'll do it here."

The men carefully set the cast on the grass next to the grave and began the process of unsealing the lid. Jonathan stood behind them, watching silently, but when it came time to actually open the coffin he moved forward, gently touching one of the men on the shoulder. "I'll do it," he said quietly.

The man nodded and stepped back. Jonathan took a deep breath and carefully raised the top portion of the casket lid. A second later, he collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks.


	8. Help

**A/N: A big thank you to everyone who's reviewed, especially the comments for this last chapter. You really made my day.**

**And brace yourselves. This roller coaster is just getting bumpier.**

Chapter 8: Help

Jonathan brought a hand up as though to touch the side of the casket, then let it drop, his shoulders shaking. He was dimly aware of Max saying something from somewhere behind him, but he couldn't have responded even if he'd made it out. He couldn't take his eyes from what he was seeing inside the casket.

"Jonathan!" Strong hands were suddenly gripping his back and arms on both sides, guiding him into a sitting position braced against Max's knee. Lt. Gray was on his other side, with Dr. Borden leaning over his shoulder. Jonathan blinked, then focused his gaze on Max.

"You saw it too?" His voice was a shaky whisper. Max nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "I'm not crazy."

"No." Max's voice sounded hard, and like he'd wanted to say a lot more, but he settled for "_You're_ not crazy."

Jonathan looked back over at the casket, and the cement bricks inside it weighing it down. "Then Jennifer really is still out there somewhere."

H2H H2H H2H

"Jonathan, it goes without saying that I'm opening up Jennifer's case again as an official investigation," Lt. Gray said tersely. "Including both a second look at the explosion, and a serious examination of just what went on both before and after you saw Jennifer afterwards."

"Thanks Herschel," Jonathan said quietly. It was late that afternoon and they were gathered in the Harts' living room along with Max and Dr. Borden, as well as Detective Bresling from the original investigation. Also present was Deanne, who Jonathan had requested join them both because of the possibility of the tie to Hart Industries, as well as her involvement in some of Jonathan and Jennifer's past investigations. She'd been brought up to speed and, after the initial shock of the afternoon's discovery in the graveyard, she'd been more than willing to assist.

"It also probably goes without saying — although I'm going to say it anyway — that we are dealing with an extremely disturbed, and therefore probably deranged individual," Dr. Borden added.

"No offense, Doc, but I can think of a few more fitting descriptions than 'disturbed' for this guy," Max spoke up.

Dr. Borden chuckled. "I can too, but since I'm here as an actual consultant, I thought I should stick with the technical terminology." Jonathan's request for Dr. Borden to remain involved after she'd discharged him from the clinic had come as a surprise initially, but it made sense. They needed to figure out how the stalker was thinking, time was of the essence, and she was already familiar with the case.

"Actually though, 'psychotic' might be a bit more appropriate." She looked over at Jonathan. "Mr. Hart, you suggested this sounded personal, like someone out for revenge, and I think you're on the right track. It's common for someone out for revenge to want to make the person they're blaming suffer. But this goes further than that."

She took a deep breath. "If all they wanted was to make you suffer, than they would have just killed Jennifer outright. They possibly would have tried to make you feel responsible — like there was something you could have done to prevent it, or given you something that would make it clear what you had done in their mind to 'cause' it. Instead this individual is toying with you, playing mind games, making you doubt your sanity."

"Are you thinking someone who already tried revenge once and it didn't work?" Jonathan asked. Dr. Borden shook her head.

"More likely they believe your actions questioned their credibility, for example, a wrongful conviction. They — or more likely someone who they believed was innocent — was imprisoned unfairly in their mind. Maybe even made to look crazy, at least to this individual."

"Sp we shouldn't just be looking at the person directly involved, but people close to them," Jonathan said thoughtfully.

Dr. Borden nodded. "Exactly."

"Mr. H., what about that Harmon guy who tried to blind you a few years ago because he thought you rejected his sister?" Max suggested.

Lt. Gray frowned. "Wouldn't that just be revenge again?"

Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "But he was sent to a mental institution."

Dr. Borden looked interested, but Detective Bresling shook her head. "That was one I did have a chance to check out before Morgan pulled me off," she said. "He's still in the hospital and he's the last in his family. And believe me, the guy had no friends."

Just then the phone rang and Max got up to answer it. After a moment, he looked over. "It's for you, Lieutenant."

Lt. Gray took the phone and listened for a moment, then his face hardened. "I'm at the Hart residence on Willow Pond Drive now. I want a list of the employees delivered up to me ASAP, along with any other information you have on them." He slammed down the phone and looked over at the others.

"Jonathan, you were onto something. I checked those other cases you mentioned where the deceased's name was a signature in the condolence book at their funeral. The others were all natural causes. But every single one of them happened at the Hattman Funeral Home."

Jonathan took a deep breath. "The people who would have handled burying Jennifer's body."

The Lieutenant nodded. "I'm getting a list of the employees sent over now so we can start looking for ties to the cases you and Jennifer looked into."

Jonathan looked over at his secretary. "Deanne, I want you to help me cross-reference that list with the files you sent over." She nodded. "Also, a list of Hart Industries employees — both current, and those who've left in the last few years."

Deanne nodded again. "I'll run down to the office right now and print one off."

Max stood up. "I'll go fix up some sandwiches and put on more coffee," he said. "This is going to be a long night."

H2H H2H H2H

Max's words proved unfortunately accurate. It was well after midnight when the group reluctantly broke up for the night, having only achieved a moderate degree of success. They had found several promising leads, but nothing with a link to the funeral home.

Max turned in almost immediately after everyone had left, but Jonathan felt too restless, opting instead to return to the living room and continue paging through the files. Finally after an hour, when his eyes could no longer separate the words on the page, he forced himself to trudge up the circular stairs.

It had been a while since he'd been in the library, he realized upstairs. Possibly since before the explosion. A stack of hastily set paperbacks were on the corner of one shelf, whether either he or Jennifer had put them in a hurry, rather than taking the time to reshelve them properly. Jonathan checked the titles — all Agatha Christies, which meant Jennifer. The top volume was _Death in the Air_. Jonathan smiled slightly, before picking it up and walking over to the chair.

H2H H2H H2H

It had happened at the Calgary airport, shortly after Christmas. Jonathan and Jennifer had been waiting to catch their flight after a delightful vacation in Banff. They'd been in their seats for only ten minutes when a stranger had sat down next to them.

"You guys connecting too?" he asked.

Jennifer shook her head. "Actually, this is where we start, but we do have a layover in Seattle."

He groaned. "That's the end of the line for me, thank goodness. I just got off a flight from Nova Scotia and some idiot decided to torture us with a pair of Agatha Christies for the in-flight movies."

Jonathan shot a quick look over at Jennifer. Her eyes were all innocence, but he could see the twitching at the corner of her mouth as she asked sweetly, "You don't like Agatha Christie?"

The man snorted. "They're so freaking unrealistic it's not even funny. I mean, come on, stumbling across murder victims everywhere you go? Most people don't even see one in their lifetimes, let alone twenty or more. Get real."

Jonathan knew he shouldn't look at his wife, but he couldn't help it. He looked. Her seemingly innocent expression made him wish he hadn't and he quickly coughed to cover his chuckle.

"Well, at least you'd hope there wasn't anybody running into that many murder victims," Jennifer said lightly, exchanging a quick look with Jonathan. He quickly ducked his head, fighting a grin.

"Well, even if they did, who would actually be insane enough to investigate for themselves, instead of letting the police take care of it?" the man dumb does she think people are?"

Jonathan closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply to keep his laughter back. It wasn't working. Jennifer subtly touched his foot with hers and he quickly pulled away.

"Is something wrong with your husband?" the man asked suddenly.

"Oh, he just gets a little nervous about plane flights," Jennifer said quickly. This time it was Jonathan who quickly tapped her foot in an effort to get her to stop, but it only seemed to encourage him, because she quickly turned towards him. "Darling, are you all right? Do you need one of your pills?"

"I'm fine, Darling," he managed, shooting her a look. She smiled sweetly.

Unfortunately, their new friend wasn't done. "You know, two old people investigating is one thing. I mean, at that age they're probably too senile to think about what they're doing, or else at that age they figure they're already so close to death that the danger doesn't matter. But the second movie had this young couple, Tommy and Tuppence investigating." He snorted. "And then falling in love in the process."

He put on a high falsetto voice. "Oh, sweetheart, I just love solving a good murder with you."

Jonathan suddenly broke into a violent coughing fit, causing both Jennifer and the stranger to look over him in shock. "Darling, are you sure you're all right?" Jennifer asked, sounding really concerned this time.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine." Jonathan shot Jennifer a look. "It's just leftovers from that cold I picked up when we were out on the ski trails."

"Oh, were you skiing out in Banff?" the man asked.

"And out at Lake Louise, too. Beautiful country." Jonathan replied with a smile, relieved for the change in conversation, until he saw the way Jennifer's eyes were dancing. _Oh, no_, he groaned silently. _She wouldn't_...

"It's just too bad the vacation part got cut short," Jennifer said with a sigh.

_Oh, yes, she would_. Jonathan moved to touch her foot again, but she gracefully sidestepped him and continued.

"We found the body of a man who'd been shot on one of the runs that was supposed to be closed." Jennifer shook her head. "You know, that's the third time that's happened to us? I'm beginning to think I should give up skiing."

The man chuckled. "Good one," he said appreciatively.

"Uh, Darling, they're getting ready to board," Jonathan cut in. "We should probably go get in line." He looked over at the man. "Nice meeting you."

"You too. Hey, let me know if you need any help on your next case!" he joked, still chuckling. Jonathan quickly ushered Jennifer towards the line before she could make any promises to do just that.

Later, when they were safely ensconced in their seats and the plane was airborne, Jonathan looked over at her. "You know, it's a good thing you were never at Mission Street," he said, unable to keep the grin off his face. "Because I can only imagine the trouble you would have caused during Sunday services."

"Me?" Jennifer responded innocently. "I wasn't the one who had the sudden attack of tuberculosis when we were talking."

"After you had nudged my foot trying to get me to look at you so that I'd start laughing," Jonathan responded, unable to keep the chuckle out of his voice.

Jennifer snickered. "He's just lucky I didn't show him what I'd brought to read on the plane." She showed him the Agatha Christie paperback, _Death in the Air_, and Jonathan just shook his head.

"You didn't see what he brought to read on the plane, did you?" he asked her, still grinning. She shook her head. "I saw him holding it in line. He's on the other side of the plane, two rows ahead. Take a look."

Jennifer cautiously stood up and looked over, before collapsing back into her seat with a giggle. "Oh, no!"

"The _Calgary Sun_ edition covering the murder on the ski slope," Jonathan confirmed, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Jennifer just leaned against him, giggling uncontrollably.

H2H H2H H2H

The memory of how hard they'd laughed that day still brought a smile to Jonathan's face. There were so many moments like that over the years, so many memories.

He'd wandered back downstairs and outside while reliving those moments in Calgary, and was standing back at the patio where he'd sat the night this whole thing had first begun. The irony was almost eerie — now it was almost over and he was back there again.

Jonathan stepped off the patio and immediately froze. About twenty feet away was a figure standing next to one of the trees. Jennifer.

Jonathan took a deep breath and frantically looked over his shoulder at the house. If he ran to get Max, she would probably be gone again. Quickly he turned back. "Jennifer?" he called, careful to keep his voice calm. "Jennifer, Darling, it's me, Jonathan." He took a step towards her. "It's okay. You're safe. Just come towards me."

Jennifer paused, then instead took a step back. Jonathan's pulse quickened and he quickly took a couple more steps forward. Jennifer? Jennifer!"

She took a few more steps back, disappearing into the trees. Jonathan broke into a run. "Jennifer! Darling, listen, it's all right! I know what's going on."

"That's the problem, Mr. Hart," a woman's voice said suddenly. Jonathan spun around just as something hard slammed against his skull. There was a dizzying pain, and then everything went black.


	9. Hostility

**A/N:Feedback for this chapter can be sent via the Witness Protection Program.**

Chapter 9: Hostility

Jonathan awoke to darkness, and a scraping noise that made his skin crawl. Instinctively he attempted to get up, only to be stopped by the bite of ropes cutting into his skin. His arms and legs had been tied behind him like a calf in a rodeo, leaving him effectively immobilized. He slowly exhaled in frustration.

He was lying on his side, with his face resting against cold, smooth concrete, like that in a basement. As his eyes adjusted, he realized that he wasn't in complete darkness after all. A little ways above him to his left, he could see an opening of light, almost like a window. He tried to turn his face towards it.

"Jennifer?"? He didn't realize how weak his voice was until he tried to use it. Swallowing hard, he tried again. "Jennifer!"

"Mr. Hart, you're awake,." A woman's face appeared in the opening. "Welcome back."

"Where's my wife?" he gasped out.

The woman chuckled harshly. "Don't worry, Mr. Hart. You'll be seeing her very soon."

H2H H2H H2H

"I got up to go to the bathroom and I saw the kitchen and patio light were still on." Max's voice was agitated. "I went outside and that's when I saw the blood."

"And you're absolutely certain Jonathan's nowhere in the house or on the grounds?" Lt. Gray asked. Max nodded, his face tight.

It was approximately 4:30 in the morning and Lt. Gray, Detective Bresling, and Deanne had all just arrived at the Hart home, having been summoned by Max's frantic phone call.

"What was Mr. Hart doing outside during the middle of the night?" Detective Bresling questioned. Max hesitated before responding.

"He...He's not been sleeping well since Mrs. H. died," he said at last. "Or...whatever happened to her. He'll often go out back to think."

"This bastard's probably been watching the entire time, just waiting for Jonathan to get out of the hospital so he could make his move," Lt. Gray muttered.

"But which one?" Detective Bresling replied. "That's not exactly a small list over there."

"You call Dr. Borden?" Lt. Gray asked. Max shook his head. "Call her. We're going to need all the help we can get."

H2H H2H H2H

"Who are you?' Jonathan asked hoarsely. "What do you want?"

The woman laughed mockingly. "You mean, you don't remember me?"

"Oh, I remember you, Ms. Rosser," Jonathan shot back. "And your 'sincere understanding' when I came to view Jennifer's body. No, I'm talking about the assumption that you didn't just pull my name out of a phone book and say, 'Oh, this guy could stand to lose his mind and have his whole life taken from him,' just for the fun of it." His voice shook on the last words.

Ms. Rosser laughed in disbelief. "You really don't remember, do you? But then, I suppose you've had to comfort a lot of grieving young women at their father's company funerals." She paused to correct herself. "Well, memorial service. It's pretty difficult to have a proper ceremony or closure when there isn't a body. But I guess you know all about that."

"Oh, I remember the grieving family members," Jonathan responded with some difficulty. "It's the twisted, demented ones I don't find worth remembering."

"You killed my father!" she screamed. "You sent him to his death."

"And you're doing real wonders with honouring his memory," Jonathan replied hoarsely. "Murder. Attempted murder. Signing people's names in the condolence book for their own funeral." He tried to catch his breath. "Those other people were just part of your plan, weren't they? A way to make sure that when the case that counted came, the police would be in the habit of dismissing the incidents as pranks."

"You're very clever, Mr. Hart," Ms. Rosser snapped. "I'm surprised you haven't figured out the rest of it. Like what I'm going to do with you."

"You're sealing me in behind a brick wall." The scraping noises he'd been hearing since he regained consciousness began to make sense. "Is that what you did to Jennifer, too?"

"I did the same thing to Jennifer that you did to my father," Ms. Rosser replied cuttingly. "You sent him to his death as part of his job. I just returned the favour."

H2H H2H H2H

"I might have something," Deanne spoke up. "But it's a bit of a reach."

"At this point I'll take anything if it helps us find Jonathan and Jennifer," Lt. Gray replied. "What've you got?"

"Four years ago, Hart Industries sent a group of scientists down to a research station in Antarctica. A storm blew up while they were traveling back and their plane crashed somewhere in the mountains," Deanne explained. "Their bodies were never recovered. One of them, Sinclair Lockwood, was a single parent with one daughter, a 17-year-old named Samantha."

She held up the list of funeral home employees. "There are no Lockwoods at the Hattman Funeral Home, but there is a Samantha. Samantha Rosser."

"She's the one we met with when we saw Mrs. H.'s body," Max said slowly. "And the one who suggested a closed casket funeral."

"Father presumed dead, body never found." Dr. Borden shook her head, a sickened expression on her face. "It fits."

"Too well. Bresling, you're with me." Lt. Gray said tersely. "The rest of you stay here, just in case we've got it wrong."

"The two women nodded, but Max shook his head. "I've taken care of those two for over nine years, and Mr. H. even longer. I'm not stopping now." He stood up. "I'm going with you."

Lt. Gray hesitated, then nodded. "Come on."

H2H H2H H2H

"If it's that important to you to get payback for your father, then fine. Do whatever you want to me." Jonathan struggled to keep his voice level. "But let Jennifer go."

Samantha Rosser laughed in disbelief. "You really don't get it, do you?" she asked him. "Fine. If you want your wife that badly, have her."

She tossed a pile of items in next to Jonathan and he strained to make them out. A synthetic latex mask, a woman's red wig, and Jennifer's green dress from London. There was a sudden roaring in his ears as all the air left his body. "You..." his voice broke. "You don't mean that."

His captor just shook her head. "You really thought she was alive."

"No." Jonathan's voice was shaking. "This is a trick. Another of your mind games."

Mrs. Rosser started to laugh again. "You just couldn't accept the reality. You never could. That's what made this whole thing work so well." She leaned in. "Jennifer never survived the explosion, other than for a couple of long, pain-filled minutes. You saw her clothes and a wig and a mask, and your grief and your guilt filled in the rest."

"Her grave," Jonathan gasped, struggling to hold back the tears. "Why did you empty her grave?"

"Because." Her voice dripped with venom. "I knew sooner or later you'd check."

Images assaulted his memory: Jennifer's eyes, her laugh, her smile. The way she'd hug him with excitement, or gently touch his arm. The sound of her voice telling him she loved him. All things he would never see or hear again. He closed his eyes, barely able to breathe. "Jennifer," he whispered. "Oh, Jennifer."

Suddenly there was a commotion on the other side of the wall and what sounded like voices. Lt. Gray yelling "Freeze! Hold it right there!" Detective Bresling chiming in, "It's over!" Jonathan forced his eyes open and saw Samantha Rosser, standing over him, about to throw a brick.

"I've got Jonathan Hart here!" she yelled. "Come any closer and this brick splits his skull."

He looked up blinking. Lt. Gray's voice came from somewhere in the distance, shouting, "Don't even try it lady." Jonathan watched numbly as the woman drew her arm back, preparing to throw, and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact.

Gunshots exploded and there was a muffled thud on the other side of the wall. Something hard struck Jonathan's shoulder and he briefly opened his eyes again. The brick was lying next to him and he just shook his head.

"Let's get him out of there!"

"Mr. H.! Mr. H.!"

"I'm here, Max," Jonathan called dully, before closing his eyes again. He didn't notice them pulling the bricks away until someone started cutting at the ropes and he realized both Max and Lt. Gray were beside him.

"Mr. H? Can you hear me?" Jonathan looked up at him and opened his mouth for a second, then closed it again, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.

"I'll radio for an ambulance," Lt. Gray said quietly.

"No," Jonathan gasped. "No more hospitals. I just want to go home."

"All right, Mr. H." Max put a hand on his arm. "It's okay." Jonathan looked up at him again.

"Jennifer's gone, Max," he said hoarsely. "She's been dead the whole time."

Max drew in a sharp breath and closed his eyes for a second, then simply squeezed Jonathan's hand. A second later he looked over at Detective Bresling. "Is that broad still alive?"

"Barely," she answered.

"I'll be right back, Mr. H.," he said quietly, before getting to his feet and walking over to where the woman lay gasping for breath. Leaning over her he grabbed her shoulders. "Where's Mrs. H.?" he said in a low voice. "What did you do with her body?"

She didn't answer him, but her eyes flickered over in Jonathan's direction. "Where's my father, Mr. Hart?" She waited a few seconds, then rasped out, "Now we'll both never know."


	10. Home

**A/N: First of all, a big thank you to everyone for the reviews. They have meant a lot. I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter, but things have gone a little crazy this week.  
**

**Secondly, a bit of trivia. The first scene with Freeway in this chapter is also based on an actual reaction of a dog a relative of mine had when her one owner passed away in hospital several years ago. Also, I saw Pandora Has Wings for the first time just as I was starting this story, and as a result got an immediate guilt trip with Jonathan's line, "It's just my way of saying how happy I am that we're together, alive, and in the same place." UGH! Did I ever feel like dirt! (And then if that wasn't bad enough, I made the mistake of watching the ep where they met for the first time while writing this as well. Ouch.) **

**Normally I'd say "Enjoy the chapter," but that feels a little inappropriate considering the subject matter, so...  
**

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Chapter 10: Home

"I've got officers turning the entire house and grounds apart," Lt. Gray said quietly to Max and Jonathan. "That room where you were held is part of a series of tunnels that Ms. Rosser had extending out of her basement. Odds are good she's got Jennifer's body in one of them, and trust me, if it is, we'll find her." He took a deep breath. "Jonathan, I am so sorry."

Jonathan nodded mutely, his expression distant. In the fifteen or so minutes since his rescue, he had barely said a word to anyone. Folded over one arm was the green dress of Jennifer's.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Max said softly, before guiding Jonathan towards the waiting vehicle. Ahead of them the sun was starting to rise, its beauty seeming out of place after everything they'd been through.

Jonathan rode the entire way back to the house looking out the passenger side window, showing no sign of tears. In fact, his face held no indication of any sort of emotion, just an unnatural stillness. It wasn't until they pulled up in the Hart's driveway and Max gently touched his shoulder that Jonathan finally turned to look at him and his blue eyes even more pain than when he'd first been told that Jennifer had died. "How?" he whispered brokenly.

"Come on, Mr. H.," Max said softly. "Let's go home."

Freeway was waiting for them when they entered. He started to bound forward, then saw Jonathan set Jennifer's dress down on the stand in the hall. Immediately the little dog laid down and gave a little whimper.

Dr. Borden and Deanne had already left, having received a quiet phonecall from Max with the news while he and Jonathan were still at the Rosser home. As though on autopilot, Jonathan moved towards the stairs.

"Mr. H.?" Max asked hesitantly.

"I think I'm going to lie down, Max," Jonathan said in a distracted voice. Max nodded mutely, waiting until the bedroom door had closed before slamming an angry palm against the banister.

H2H H2H H2H

Upstairs, Jonathan made it only a few steps before his legs buckled and he collapsed to his knees next to the bed, sobbing uncontrollably. All the moments he'd let himself dream, to believe, the attempts to rationalize an explanation, the hope — it had all been for nothing.

H2H H2H H2H

"I just got word from the hospital," Detective Bresling said, reentering the room where they'd found Jonathan. "Samantha Rosser didn't make it."

"What a shame," Lt. Gray remarked dryly.

Detective Bresling glanced around, looking uncomfortable. "What kind of sicko builds a place like this?"

"The kind I wish we could just let mummify behind her own brick walls," Lt. Gray muttered, hitting the rear wall next to him for emphasis. The brick shifted slightly and the two officers glanced at each other. "Help me get these bricks loose."

They'd pulled away about six bricks when they saw it. The body of a redhaired woman lying on her side.

"That..." Detective Bresling looked up at him. "She had her on the other side of the wall this entire time?"

Lt. Gray shone his flashlight in to see if he could see the face, then slowly exhaled. "It's Jennifer Hart."

H2H H2H H2H

Jonathan wasn't sure exactly when it was that he finally pulled himself up and moved over to the windowseat. There was a picture sitting on the sill behind it, and he picked it up. It was a picture of him and Jennifer, taken the previous year on a Naval Base, when he'd been temporarily recalled to active duty. After the test flight was over, Jonathan's co-pilot had lent her his flightsuit and they'd posted together in front of the plane.

The test flight. The one that had also nearly ended in an explosion. Jonathan closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window, remembering that first conversation.

Jennifer had been waiting for him at the hanger when they'd brought the plane back in, rushing forward the second the roof on the jet started to raise. Jonathan had nearly turned his ankle in his haste to get down the ladder to give her a hug.

She'd clung to him for several seconds, then slowly pulled back a few inches to look into his eyes. Taking a deep breath, she mustered a smile. "We're together," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "We're together, we're alive, and we're in the same place."

Jonathan stared at her. It was something he'd said to her when he was getting ready to tell her his orders, only he'd said it lightly, almost joking. "What made you think of that?" he asked her softly. She shrugged and gently touched his face.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since I heard your voice on the radio." He didn't answer, just hugged her tightly again.

That memory had stayed with him throughout the day and well into the evening. Long after they'd turned in for the night, he'd laid there, on his back, replaying the flight and that moment in the hanger. He thought he'd been the only one, but then he'd heard Jennifer's voice cut through the darkness.

"Jonathan? Are you awake?"

"Can't sleep," he admitted quietly.

"Me neither." She wriggled closer until she was resting her head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. "I can't stop thinking about what happened today."

She sighed. "You know, I'm always glad to hear your voice, but I don't think it's ever sounded sweeter than when I heard you say 'Mission aborted,' and I knew you were okay."

He hugged her. "I keep thinking about what you said at the hanger."

She shifted to look at him. "You said it first."

"Yeah." He shifted so that his head was resting against hers. "You know what I find amazing?"

"What?"

"We repeatedly put ourselves at risk voluntarily when we look into some of the stuff we do. And yet it's always the ones we haven't had any choice about that have put us in the most danger." His voice was quiet. "Paris. Today. That lunatic on the game preserve."

Jennifer was quiet for several seconds. "I never thought of that before," she said finally. "It's ironic."

H2H H2H H2H

It _was_ ironic, Jonathan thought bitterly. In fact, it had held true to the end. Jennifer had died not trying to solve someone's murder, but simply working on a story, something she'd done most of her life, since before they'd met.

Jonathan closed his eyes. It was _how_ they'd met. Their life together had begun and ended the same way. He gently traced Jennifer's face in the picture with his finger, tears trickling down his cheeks.

H2H H2H H2H

"Mr. H." Max knocked on the door again. "Mr. H., it's me." When there was no response, he pushed the door open.

Jonathan was sitting on the windowseat, one leg curled beneath him, his left shoulder resting against the windowpane. The fingers of his other hand gently rested on a small framed photograph lying on the cushion in front of him. It was a picture of him and Jennifer.

He gave no sign that he'd even heard the door or Max, just remained staring at something out the window. Or to be more accurate, a particle of air somewhere between the window and his face.

Max took a slow step into the room. "Mr. H." The gravelly voice shook slightly, then stopped. "Mr. H., they..."

Jonathan didn't move. "They found her."

The words were dull and held no expression whatsoever. Max swallowed. "Yeah, Mr. H.," he managed. "They...They found..." He broke off and ushered the person next to him forward. "They found her."

Jonathan's eyes flashed briefly down at the photograph, then stared unseeingly in front of him. "Where?"

"Darling?" Jonathan flinched slightly at the tentative voice, but didn't look up. "Darling...It's me."

There was a long minute, and then his eyes hesitantly slid away from the window and towards the speaker. Jennifer, looking more tired than Jonathan had ever seen her. She was dressed in an unfamiliar blue sweatsuit, her hair was coming lose from a ponytail, and her face was smudged with dirt. But it looked like Jennifer and she was smiling. Jonathan's eyes lingered on her for a second, then moved past her and he slowly shook his head. "No."

Jennifer blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his reaction, then caught herself and stepped forward, reaching to touch his arm. "Jonathan..."

He scrambled off the windowseat and took a couple of quick steps back, his expression wary and uncertain. In a firmer voice, he repeated, "No."

Max made a move to come forward. "Mr. H..."

"It's okay, Max." Jonathan held up a hand. His breathing had grown quicker and slightly irregular, and there was a hint of glistening in one eye, but his voice was composed. Almost a brittle composure as he continued, "I know she's not real."

A gasp caught in Jennifer's throat, and she glanced quickly over at Max before turning her gaze back to her husband, who was steadfastly focused on a point just beyond her shoulder.

"Like I said, Mrs. H.," Max said softly. "She did a real number on him."

Jonathan shot a quick look in his direction, then looked back at Jennifer and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. After a few seconds he opened them and looked back at her, then quickly shut his eyes again. He waited a few seconds longer this time before opening them a third time. Almost immediately he shook his head, his expression growing agitated.

"It's almost like when we were at the Riverbend Preserve in South America, isn't it?" Jennifer said softly. "When I saw you through the window of the Attertons' hut. I mean, it looked like you, but I knew I'd just seen you go over that cliff. And I was coming off a night of no sleep, not really anything to eat, and all that adrenaline — I figured I had to be seeing things."

He still didn't look at her, but Jennifer thought she saw a hint of a waver in his face. "Or when I had the concussion after we went kite flying and I thought I saw a murder in the hospital — only, they changed the hospital room into a lounge. You know, when I realized that you'd believed me the whole time, there was a part of me that couldn't believe it, because by that point I almost wasn't sure if _I_ believed me anymore.

She smiled slightly. "Even that time you were shot and kidnapped in Paris. You talked to me on the phone, and I know your voice, but there was still a part of me that couldn't completely believe until I saw you for myself and hugged you outside that barn — that you really were alive."

Jonathan's breathing had slowed and he was looking at her now, really looking at her. Jennifer took an involuntary step forward. Almost immediately Jonathan took another step back and the wary look came back into his eyes. His wife took a deep breath.

"Of course, none of what I've told you really proves anything, does it?" she whispered, her voice quavering. "I mean, you know all these memories; your subconscious could just be manufacturing them for you now." She gestured towards Max, her voice breaking. "And with the emotion you both have been through, who's to say this isn't just both of you thinking you're seeing me right now?"

The couple simply stood looking at each other for several long moments, neither saying a word. Jennifer felt a sob threatening to catch in her throat and she resolutely ignored it, not even daring to breathe as she watched a kaleidoscope of emotions run over her husband's face. One of his eyes began to glisten.

Suddenly Jennifer's attention was diverted by a small form throwing itself against her legs. It was Freeway, who'd wriggled his way past Max at the door. Jennifer absently gave him a quick pat behind his ears. "Not now, boy," she said softly, attempting to nudge him away.

But Freeway wasn't having any of it. He may not have known the exact meaning of the word "dead," but he did know that Jennifer had been gone for a long time and that there was something very wrong with whatever had caused her to be away, and that this wrong was now on its way to becoming right now that she was back. And he was not going to miss whatever that was. Freeway jumped against Jennifer's legs again, his brown eyes pleading for her to understand. Reluctantly, Jennifer knelt down.

"It's okay, baby," Jennifer said softly ot the frantic ball of fur that had now hurled itself into her arms. "It's okay. Mommy's home."

She didn't see the flash of emotion cross Jonathan's eyes at the familiar endearment, or the way he took a couple of unconscious steps towards her, then halted, still uncertain.

"Mr. H." Max's voice was softer than she'd ever heard it. "Dogs don't hallucinate."

Jennifer forced herself to keep her attention on Freeway, to not look up as Jonathan took a couple of steps closer, to not react as she heard his quiet, "No."

Jonathan knelt down in front of her and placed a gentle hand on Freeway's back as a tear trickled down his cheek. "No, they don't." He slowly moved his hand to Jennifer's shoulder, a tentative touch at first, then a cautious squeeze. "Darling?"

The word was barely audible. Jennifer looked up at him, her eyes glistening, and an encouraging smile crept over her face. She nodded slowly. "Jennifer?"

Jonathan's voice was a little louder this time, and close to tears. His wife nodded again. "It's me."

"Jennifer." His other arm came up to her other shoulder, giving her just enough time to nudge Freeway out of the way before Jonathan pulled her into a tight hug. Jonathan's whole body was shaking and Jennifer felt tears trickle into her hair. "You're not...I mean I thought you..." His hug tightened. Oh, Darling."

"I know. It's all right." Jennifer closed her eyes briefly and she rubbed his back. "I'm all right."

Jonathan's arms tightened around her again. "Then I'm all right," he whispered. "You're home."


	11. Healing

**A/N: First of all a big thank you to everyone for your reviews. They meant a lot. My apologies again for this delay - there has been some family stuff cropping up lately.**

**By the way, I actually wrote the last scene of chapter 10 first. I wanted to remind myself of what was coming every time I felt guilty for what I was putting Jonathan through!  
**

Chapter 11: Healing

"Hart residence, Jennifer speaking."

"Did you just say 'Jennifer Hart'?" the caller questioned.

Jennifer smiled slightly. "Yes, this is Jennifer Hart." There was a pause, and then, "Yes, I'm _that_ Jennifer Hart. No, I'm not dead. Yes, I'm sure." She listened for a few more seconds, then hung the phone up and walked back down the hall towards the bedroom, shaking her head. "Of all the questions."

It had been almost three weeks since her rescue and a little over a month since the abduction itself. With the exception of a few quiet reunion get-togethers with old friends like Jorje, and a small gathering at their home with the core staff at Hart Industries, the couple had attempted to lay low and keep to themselves, which hadn't been easy. Between Jennifer's reputation as a well-known journalist, and her being married to a prominent businessman like Jonathan, the initial news of the explosion alone had made the case a CNN mainstay. When she was found alive and well a few weeks later, the whole thing had exploded into a full-blown circus. The couple had finally agreed to an interview with _People Magazine_ for that afternoon, hoping that would help things die down somewhat.

H2H H2H H2H

"Mr. and Mrs. Hart, I just wanted to begin by thanking you again for agreeing to this interview," Molly Adair, the woman from _People Magazine_ said quietly. She sat across from Jonathan and Jennifer in the living room, her tape recorder placed on the coffee table between them. "You know, we do a lot of follow-up stories on the victims of crime and their relatives, and it's wonderful to be able to tell one that actually has a good ending."

Jonathan and Jennifer exchanged looks and he gently squeezed her hand. "It was your pointing that kind of reasoning out that helped us to decide to do this interview," Jonathan said quietly. He looked over at his wife again and smiled. "And a month ago, I never thought I'd be able to say that."

Molly nodded. "I guess that's where I want to start, is a little over a month ago, when this all first happened." She looked over at Jonathan. "This is the one I know a lot of people have been wondering since Jennifer was first found, and that's what exactly happened at the funeral home? You said you personally saw her body."

"Yes." Jonathan shifted slightly in his seat.

"And you had no doubts that Jennifer was dead — I mean, there was no sign of her breathing or anything?" Molly looked at him for confirmation. "And it was definitely Jennifer on that table."

It was one of the hardest parts of the whole ordeal for Jonathan to talk or even think about — that moment at the funeral home where he'd seen Jennifer for himself and still believed she was dead. Still, he understood the questions — they'd been some of the first ones he and Max had demanded answers to from the police once the initial shock and emotion of seeing Jennifer alive had settled. Now, he answered honestly.

"No, there were definitely no visible signs of breathing, or heart rate, or anything like that," Jonathan said, his voice quiet. "As far as whether that was Jennifer..." He looked over at his wife and swallowed hard. It was a question he'd asked himself more than once. His eyes shifted back to Molly. "From what the police have told us, I would say that yes, that was her that I saw on that table."

His voice had grown noticeably softer on the last few words, and Jennifer reached over, gently wrapping her hand around his. "When the police were searching the property afterwards, they found a bottle containing a little-known drug, called car...carb..." She broke off and looked over at Jonathan. "Darling, where is that police report?"

"I had a feeling we were going to need it, so I wrote it down on a piece of paper," Jonathan replied. He picked up a piece of paper from the coffee table in front of them. "Carbohydrate andromedotoxin."

"What he said," Jennifer quipped.

Jonathan looked over at Molly. "I'll give you this after for the spelling, but it's an herb, taken from rhododendron bushes, that when taken slows the heart rate and breathing down to a level where they can't be detected and lowers the body temperature. The person appears..." He took a deep breath and looked over at Jennifer again. "Dead."

Jennifer squeezed his hand a second time and he gratefully returned the gesture. Across from them Molly hesitated before asking, "So you believed, then, that Jennifer was dead?"

Jonathan hated the answer to that question, but he met the reporter's eyes anyway. "I didn't want to," he answered, his voice shaking slightly. "But yes, when I was standing there in the funeral home, looking down at Jennifer, I did believe it."

It was the memory that haunted him the most. That he'd sat with her the whole time and not once realized that something was off, that Jennifer was — against the odds — still alive. Knowing the drug had even managed to fool experts couldn't take away the deep-seated belief that with as much as he loved Jennifer and as the person who knew her the best in the world, somehow he should have noticed something.

"What made you change your mind?" Molly's voice pulled him from his thoughts and he blinked, startled.

"What?" Jennifer was looking at him in concern, and he offered her a quick smile. "Sorry, my mind must have wondered there for a second. What was your question?"

"What made you change your mind about believing that Jennifer was dead and start looking for her?" Molly asked. "Or were you just trying to find her killer?"

This was something the Harts had talked a lot about after agreeing to the interview, exactly how much to answer regarding Samantha Rosser's actions. They hadn't mentioned it at all during any of the statements they'd given to the press, and only a handful of their closest friends knew the whole story. In the end, they'd decided on the simple truth.

"I didn't start believing Jennifer was alive immediately." Jonathan chose his words carefully. "But I first knew something was wrong when I saw Jennifer's signature in the condolence book at her funeral."

He picked the book up off the coffee table and handed it to Molly, indicating the appropriate line. "Samanatha was trying to make me think I was going crazy and question whether Jennifer was really dead. I'd keep thinking I was seeing her — at the church during the funeral home, around my office. Always either in the dress I'd selected for her to be buried in, or the outfit she was wearing in the explosion."

Molly stared at them both for a moment, not sure what to say. After a minute, she asked, "How did you find out what was going on?"

Jonathan smiled slightly. "When I saw her outside my office, a man stopped to talk to her. I realized if someone else could see her too, then I wasn't imagining things." He looked over at Jennifer and put his arm around her shoulders. For several seconds he didn't say anything. Finally he looked back at the reporter. "And I know Jennifer," he said softly. "Whether she was alive or not, there had to be some kind of lunatic behind it, because she wouldn't do something like this."

"Were you starting to believe at this point that she might be alive?' Molly asked.

Jonathan nodded. "And I knew I was going to do whatever it took to bring her home."

He went on to describe some of the basic details of the investigation, ending with when the police had found him in the tunnel. When he got to where Samantha had thrown in the dress and the mask, Molly questioned, "So was it really Jennifer, or was Samantha Rosser really in disguise the whole time?" She shrugged. "Or do you know for sure?"

Jennifer smiled wryly. "This is the photo of the mask," she said, handing it to the reporter.

Molly took it for a moment, then shook her head. "If that's supposed to look like you, I need my eyes examined."

"A doctor examined me shortly after I was found and did a blood test, and they found the presence of a sedative." Jennifer looked over at her husband. "We had to write that one down too."

"Chloralhydroburate." Jonathan handed the paper with both words to the reporter. "More than just a sedative. It's an amnesiac and mimics the effects of sleepwalking."

"It was so I wouldn't recognize Jonathan." Jennifer kept her voice carefully stripped of emotion. "She could have me show up at a distance and look normal, but I wouldn't be able to respond when Jonathan called out to me, or try and escape, because I wasn't really aware of what was going on."

"So what was the point of the mask then?" Molly asked.

"A last chance to hurt me." This time it was Jonathan whose voice was almost too neutral. "I wasn't supposed to live long enough to be able to check the mask."

Molly nodded slowly, then looked at Jennifer. "You said the drug caused amnesia," she said gently. "Do you have any memory of your abduction?"

"Not really," Jennifer answered softly. "The last clear memory I have is being in the college hallway just before being hit in the head — and not, by the way, in an explosion." She smiled briefly. "After that there's bits and pieces, but nothing really until I woke up to the police leaning over me."

"Did they tell you right away that people thought you were dead?" Jennifer gave a rueful chuckle.

"They sort of had to," she answered. "The detective who found me, Lieutenant Gray, is an old friend of ours and he had this completely shocked expression on his face when I came to. Plus I was frantically asking to talk to Jonathan, and they had to explain why they didn't want to let me just call him up on the phone."

"What was it like when you realized that everyone thought you were dead?" Molly asked her. Jennifer took a deep breath.

"I was abducted once a few years ago, and one of the things that goes through your mind the most is concern about the fear your family and loved ones must be feeling. You know that their mind has to be going to the worst-case scenario, even though they are trying not to." She looked up at her husband as her voice swelled with emotion. "To find out that Jonathan hadn't just had to face the possibility — that he was having to actually deal with it as a reality when it wasn't even true..." She just shook her head. "All I could think about was getting to him and hugging him and letting him know I was all right."

Molly smiled. "I imagine that was a pretty emotional reunion."

The Harts looked at each other, as a couple of tears escaped down Jennifer's cheek. Jonathan's arm tightened around her shoulder. "I don't think there's a moment where I've stopped thinking about it." He wasn't sure that he ever would, or that he'd even want to. That moment had been a gift, and they both knew it.

Thankfully the reporter didn't press them for specifics. Instead she asked, "I'm guessing I already know the answer to this, but I just want to be sure. With the drugs Samantha Rosser used, is there any chance of permanent damage?"

Jennifer managed a smile. "No, that's one piece of good news. The doctors have assured us that there won't be any long-term physical effects."

Molly nodded. "What about emotional effects?"

That was something else entirely. "Max says we hug each other even more now than we did before," Jennifer said, offering a quick smile. In a quieter voice, she added, "Mostly just the stuff you'd expect like nightmares, possibly being a little more safety-conscious than usual." She hesitated. "And I can't really go into a basement right now without panicking."

Jonathan had never forgotten that night about a week after Jennifer's rescue. He'd noticed she was taking a while to get a bottle of wine from the wine cellar and had gone down to check on her. He'd found her with her back against the wall a few feet from the stairs, virtually frozen, her face almost gray.

The truth was that "the stuff you'd expect" only covered the tip of it. There was so much more that they couldn't talk about, moments that would forever just stay between them. The times one of them would awaken during the night by being pulled into a frantic hug by the other. Moments where Jonathan would catch himself just staring at Jennifer for no reason other than to assure himself that she really was still there. Or incidents like the one that had happened the night before.

H2H H2H H2H

It had started while they were having dinner out on the patio. The phone had rung and Jennifer had gone inside to answer it. She'd returned a few moments later, her expression a mixture of anger and hurt, and Jonathan had looked up at her in concern.

"Darling, is everything all right?"

She mustered a smile. "Yeah, it was just another reporter."

Jonathan's eyes didn't leave her face. "You seem upset."

"He just got a little pushy, that's all." She tried to shrug. "You know how some of them can get."

"Uh-huh." Jonathan still didn't look completely convinced, and she'd quickly changed the subject.

Max was out that night at his regular poker game, so they had the house to themselves. Jennifer had tried to pretend everything was normal and act like her usual self, but she knew Jonathan had seen through it. A couple of times he'd tried to draw her out in conversation, but she'd sidestepped it. At last, in desperation, she'd pretended to fall asleep while they were cuddled up on the couch watching TV. In reality, she hadn't been tired at all, and it had made for some long moments as she walked upstairs with Jonathan and waited for him to fall asleep, all the while trying not to cry.

Finally he'd fallen asleep and she'd escaped to the kitchen, where she'd let the tears stream freely down her cheeks as she fumbled with the materials to make herself a cup of tea. The lid on the tin with the teabags stuck and she tugged at it in frustration. "Come on, I don't need this." She gave it a yank and it flew off, sending several tea bags scattering to the floor. "Oh, for..."

Freeway scrambled forward, eager to sample whatever this unexpected treat was. "Freeway, no!" He ignored her and picked up one of the teabags with his mouth. "FREEWAY!"

Her voice was so loud and sharp that the little dog jumped bag with a little whimper. Freeway had had his share of scoldings for misbehavior, and even the occasional raised voice, but nobody in the house ever outright yelled at him, especially not Jennifer.

The look of hurt and confusion on his face completely undid her and she sank to her knees. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry. Come here." Freeway eyed her outstretched arms uncertainly and she gave him an encouraging nod. "It's okay. Come on." The dog hesitantly padded forward. Jennifer scooped him up and shifted into a sitting position, her back leaning against the side of the island. "I'm so sorry, baby."

She hugged him closer. "It was that stupid call from the reporter. I probably should have just said something to Jonathan, but I knew if I started talking I'd lose it." Freeway looked up at her and she chuckled ruefully. "See what I mean?"

She leaned against his fur. "He wanted to ask me about my 'ordeal'. I told him I wasn't interested and he kept pushing. He said my experiences could make for a real good human interest story, that I could probably 'inspire' some people." Jennifer gave a half-laugh, half-sob. "Inspire them with what? With the fact that I was basically unconscious through the entire thing? That I don't remember anything until Herschel found be behind that wall? That I put my husband through two weeks of pain and torture and thinking he was losing his mind?"

Jennifer heard something move behind her and she shifted to the side so that the cupboard door she was leaning against wouldn't keep brushing against it.

"When Herschel told me everyone thought I was dead, that's all I thought had happened. And that was already bad enough, knowing Jonathan had been grieving this whole time. But then when Max told me what that woman had done, and then I walked in and saw his face...the look in his eyes...and I realized..." Her voice broke off as she started sobbing. Freeway whimpered and tried to lick the tears on her cheek, and she hugged him a little tighter, burying her face against his soft, furry head.

"I hurt him, Freeway," she whispered. "I mean, I didn't know what was happening, but still — Jonathan. I love him more than any other person on this earth and this was one of the worst things imaginable that you could to do anyone. And I did it to _him_. Here I was thinking I'd gotten off lightly with my abduction, basically being unconscious and unaware of anything that was happening. And the whole time Jonathan was questioning his sanity and losing me all over again. And I was the one doing it to him!"

She wiped a tear away on Freeway's ear. "You can say what you want about how I wasn't aware or that it was really Samantha Rosser behind it and she used me, but you still can't change it. She wasn't out there doing these disappearing acts with my clothes and a mask. That was me out there every single time."

"And the reason I knew I wasn't going crazy."

Jennifer spun around to see Jonathan leaning on the counter behind her. She clapped a hand to her mouth. "Jonathan."

"You woke me up when you shouted at Freeway," Jonathan said gently. He walked around the corner of the counter and knelt down in front of her on the floor. Reaching out, he took each of her hands in one of his. "Darling, you didn't put me through anything."

Jennifer stared at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Jonathan..."

"You couldn't control what she was doing. You were the weapon in all of this."

"I know that I wasn't the one who was choosing, but that was still me you were seeing the whole time." She stared into his eyes. "She lied about the mask, remember? All those times at the church, the cemetery, your office — that was me every time. I even landed you in the hospital."

"And gave me hope." Tears glistened in his eyes and he smiled at her. "Seeing you that time at the office was what convinced me you were still alive, remember? If it had been Samantha Rosser wearing the mask that time outside my office, she wouldn't have been drugged and could have responded when that man stopped to ask her a question." He squeezed her hand. "It wasn't just seeing him talking to you that tipped me off something was wrong — it was also the expression on your face, the way you didn't really look like you knew what was going on."

He reached out and touched her cheek. "Did you know that when we found out you'd been sedated and unaware of most of the abduction, there was a part of me that was relieved?"

Jennifer blinked, caught off guard. "No."

"After I knew you were probably alive, there was no way you would go along willingly, and they had to be doing something to get you to cooperate, and I knew the mind games they were already pulling on me." Jonathan's voice shook slightly. "And I was terrified of what they might be doing to you."

Jennifer stared into his eyes for several seconds, before gasping out, "Oh, Darling," and flinging herself into his arms. Jonathan hugged her tightly, and gently stroked her hair, letting her cry. "It's okay," he whispered. "Let it out."

When her sobs had finally slowed Jonathan pulled back slightly, just enough to look into Jennifer's eyes again. "When I realized that I wasn't going crazy, that you were probably alive and that I'd been seeing you this entire time, only one thing went through my mind."

She looked up at him. "What was that?"

He hugged her again. "Bringing you home."

H2H H2H H2H

"Darling?" Jennifer pulled herself back into the present with a start.

"I'm sorry, what was the question?"

Molly smiled. "What ended up happening with your interview, the whole reason you were supposed to be at the college in the first place?"

"It turned out that Samantha Rosser had placed both calls, one claiming to Mrs. Albers, inviting me to see the room, and one to Mrs. Albers pretending to be me, asking for the interview." Jennifer answered. "At the time we chalked it up to a misunderstanding, and she was taking me to the Dean's office when we were ambushed."

"So I'm guessing the story about the room itself won't be happening after all?" Jennifer smiled.

"Actually, Tormandyne College has given me the go-ahead to do an article about the story behind the room, which will be dedicated to the memory of Mrs. Albers."

Molly leaned forward. ""Do you think there's any truth to the rumors about the secret room?"

Jennifer exchanged a sideling glance with Jonathan and they both smiled. "After everything else that's happened to us with this whole thing, let's just say I'm not going to rule any possibility out."

H2H H2H H2H

They'd gone over to the college a few nights before, Jennifer having asked permission to be able to do a search for herself as part of the research for the article. She didn't know if the staff had felt like she had earned it after everything, or whether they simply wanted to put an end to the rumors before something like this happened again, but they agreed.

Jonathan unlocked the door with the key the Dean had given them, and flipped on the light. The room seemed even larger without the crowd of students milling around. Jennifer just shook her head.

"Plenty of places to hide a secret room," she remarked.

"Yeah." Jonathan's eyes were fixed on an area upstairs. Jennifer followed his gaze, not understanding for a minute. Then she remembered. One of the places Samantha Rosser had had her show up had been this library.

It was the first time either of them had been back to any of the locations since her rescue. Jennifer gently touched his arm. "Are you going to be all right with this?"

He looked over at her and then slowly smiled. "Yeah." He squeezed her hand. "yeah, I will."

Jennifer studied his face for a second, then nodded and took a hesitant step forward. "Where on earth do we start?"

Jonathan shook his head. "Good question." He slowly turned around. "You'd think it would be easiest for the students to disappear if they didn't have to go very far. Ground floor near the entrance area?"

Jennifer shrugged thoughtfully. "Maybe. But then that's also the area with the most traffic."

"Good point." He looked over at the shelves. "It could have been set up for a specific category of significance — assuming everything's still in the same spot."

"What about the outside walls?" Jennifer offered. "That seems like it would be easier to sneak into."

"No, that's the one concrete thing we do know. The students were always seen entering the building, but not exiting," Jonathan answered.

"Right. Okay, I'm leaning towards a bookshelf being moved aside like a secret door. I mean, why else use the library?" Jennifer pointed out. She sighed. "Unless, of course, that would be the kneejerk reaction, in which case they'd want something different."

Jonathan gave a slight grin. "Unless the idea was to be hidden in plain sight and go for the obvious, because it would be too obvious for people to suspect."

Jennifer sighed again. "I'm getting a headache just thinking about it. Maybe we should just start feeling the bookshelves for buttons or panels or something."

"It's as good of place as any to start." Jonathan nodded at one of the aisles. "I think I'll start with Medical."

"It's probably way too obvious, but I think I'll try Education." She headed towards the shelves. "Good luck."

"We're gonna need it," he called back.

Jennifer looked up from where she'd been carefully prodding the last section of a bottom shelf. "We can rule out History!" she called.

Jonathan set some books back on another shelf. "And the reference section." He walked over to join her. "How many sections does that leave us?"

"Too many." Jennifer nodded to the floor above. "Including most of upstairs."

"I've got an idea." Jonathan reached for her arm. "Come on, let's go back to the entrance." Jennifer followed him back to the door. "Okay, imagine you're one of those escaped slaves who's now a student. You've probably traveled the Underground Railroad, you know the importance of getting somewhere quickly without being noticed. You're here seeking refuge, and you've got to get out of sight quickly. Where's your first reaction of where to go?"

Jennifer closed her eyes for a moment, trying to picture it, then opened her eyes and glanced around. She hesitated, trying to weigh the options.

"You're thinking too much," Jonathan gently cautioned. "You wouldn't have time. Forget trying to reason out a plan. Just enter, do a quick check, and follow your first instinct."

"All right." Jennifer closed her eyes again and took a couple of deep breaths, imagining the state of mind, then opened her eyes. She took a brief glance around before lowering her head and making a quick veer to the left, then down an aisle of filing cabinets at the end of the room. Jonathan followed her as she rushed down to the end, stopping in front of a large bookshelf.

"Microfilm archives," Jennifer read. "Definitely not what would have been here originally."

"Not the material on the shelves, but the bookshelf might have." Jonathan turned and surveyed the library. "You know, the door is set so near this end of the room that when you enter, your first reflex is almost always to look to the right instead of over here. It would have been perfect."

They exchanged smiles. "Only one way to find out," Jennifer said softly. She stepped forward and started examining the end closest to the wall with her hands as Jonathan did the same on the other side.

The first few shelves yielded nothing and Jennifer sighed in frustration. She got down on one knee to check the lower shelves, resting her hand against the fourth shelf down, and promptly stilled. "Jonathan."

He looked over at her. "What is it?"

"Look." On the underside of the fourth shelf, just inside the edge, was a small indentation, resembling a knot in the wood, about the size of a fingerprint. Hesitantly, Jennifer pressed it. They both jumped as the brick wall next to them shifted back a couple of feet, leaving a gap just large enough to slip into.

"It wasn't a rumor," Jennifer breathed.

"No." Jonathan shone his flashlight into the opening, revealing a platform about three feet square, and then a set of stairs leading down. He glanced back at her. "It looks like it goes down to a basement," he said quietly. "Are you going to be all right?"

Jennifer instinctively flinched, then took a deep breath and gritted her teeth. "Only one way to find out," she replied.

Jonathan took her hand with his right and edged sideways into the opening, followed by Jennifer. Once they were standing on the platform, he shone his flashlight down the wooden stairs, trying to see down. "Looks like they turn about five steps down and then go back under the library." Jennifer nodded and he cautiously started down, still holding her hand.

Jennifer's breathing started to quicken as they descended and Jonathan turned to look at her. "Darling?"

"I'm okay." The tremor in her voice indicated otherwise and Jonathan shifted his flashlight to a point at an angle above her head, letting him still see her face. Sweat was beginning to form on her forehead and he reached out to grasp her shoulder.

"Okay, let's go, we're getting out of here. Come on."

"No." Jennifer grabbed his arm. "We're so close. I can do this." Jonathan tilted his head slightly, ready to reason with her, and she looked up into his eyes. "That woman's already taken enough from us," she said softly. "I'm not letting her take this too."

Jonathan slowly nodded. "All right." He moved so that instead of holding her hand, he now had his arm around her shoulders, while still gripping the flashlight with his other hand. Carefully they made their way down the rest of the staircase.

When they reached the bottom they stopped, and Jonathan shone the flashlight out, trying to make out their surroundings. They were in a small room, a little larger than an average guest room, with very little furniture other than some wooden tables and chairs, each big enough to seat about two people. Against one wall was a small bookshelf with a few books and some papers piled on it. At the far end was a doorway to another room, through which they could just see what looked like wooden bed-frames.

Jennifer's arm tightened around Jonathan's back and he looked over at her in concern. Her face was a little pale and she seemed to be swallowing more than usual, but she was smiling. "The stories were true," she said softly. "I can't believe it. A classroom, a bedroom. Thanks to those teachers who knows how many of those freed slaves were able to get an education."

"And all without anyone ever finding out." Jonathan shook his head. "It's amazing."

Jennifer nodded. "Some of those girls probably went on to teach others," she said. "And now they'll be teaching even more."

H2H H2H H2H

The night after the interview with _People Magazine_, Jennifer lay in bed, reading the last page of Mary Higgins Clark's _The Cradle Will Fall_, the book she'd been reading when this whole thing had started. When she was done she stared at the last page for a moment, then closed the book and set it down on the night table. _That only took a month to finish_, she thought wryly.

Suddenly became aware of someone's eyes on her. Jonathan was leaning against the doorjamb of the entrance to his side of the closet, silently watching her. She offered him a little smile, then got out of bed, walked over and gently touched his shoulder. "Hey," she said softly.

Jonathan didn't answer for a moment, just looked into her face, his eyes glistening. Slowly he shook his head, offering a shaky smile of his own. "I know I've said this a lot lately," he said, his voice husky. "But it is so good to see you."

Jennifer put her arms around him in a gentle hug, resting her cheek against his shoulder, and he leaned his head against her hair. Jonathan's face was turned towards a spot on the floor at the foot of the bed, and Jennifer knew without even asking that he was thinking about that other hug on that morning almost three weeks before.

It was the one part of the experience they never really talked about, although Jennifer doubted there'd been a moment since when one, if not both of them, hadn't been thinking about it. That whole day had been permanently etched into their minds — the walk they'd finally taken downstairs, their arms still wrapped tightly around each other's shoulders. The reluctantly-agreed to doctor's examination conducted the entire time with Jonathan's hand in hers. The tearful reunions with all the friends who'd helped them during the ordeal, the entire time in which Jonathan and Jennifer's eyes had never left each other. That night back in their own bed for the first time, safely wrapped in each other's arms, a mixture of hugs, whispers, kisses, and tears. They'd both been exhausted, but neither of them had slept at all that night.

And of course, the hug itself. Jennifer didn't know when exactly Max had retreated with Freeway, or how long they'd simply knelt there in each other's arms. In many ways it felt as though that hug had never really ended.

Jonathan's arms tightened around her and she looked up at him, gently reaching up to touch his face. He pulled his head back slightly so that he could look at her again, his eyes full of love and emotion.

"You know, I don't think I realized just how much I'd let myself hope until that moment in the cave when it was taken away." His voice shook slightly. "From the moment I realized someone else had seen you and you were really out there, that's all I was holding onto. That no matter what else happened in the meantime, when it was all over I'd be holding you in my arms. When she threw that dress and mask in and I realized I would never get to hold you in my arms again..."

Jonathan broke off, trying to catch his breath. "I know how this is going to sound. It's been almost three weeks." He looked deep into her eyes and his voice broke. "But sometimes there's a part of me that's still afraid...that...that I'm not really seeing you."

His voice had faded to a whisper and there were tears trickling down his cheeks. Jennifer gently wiped a couple of them away, then cupped his face in her hands.

"I'm in your arms now, Darling," she whispered. "And I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

THE END

**A/N: Factual note - Chloralhydroburate is completely fictional to my knowledge, however carbohydrate andromedotoxin does actually exist and has the same effects I described.**

**Also, a couple of years ago, NCIS did a Halloween episode where they named all the characters after characters in horror movies. The hidden joke inspired me to do something similar in this story.. The clinic where Jonathan is taken after collapsing in the cemetery is named after a character who was presumed dead for eight years in Alistair MacLean's Rendezvous. Also the name of the funeral home, the villain and her father, and Jennifer's date of 'death' are the respective name of the writer, villains, and airdate of an episode of Diagnosis Murder, "The Murder Of Mark Sloan", where a main character's death was faked. Lastly, when Jonathan is looking out the window and sees the people on the sidewalk, there is a reference to a Mark Clemens, who was "known for exaggerating his reports." Mark Clemens is a combination of the real name, Samuel Clemens, and the pen name of author Mark Twain, who in addition to his novels is known for the quote, "Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."  
**

**Thanks again to everyone joining me along on this ride. I hope to have another H2H story posted in the new year.**


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